


No Homo

by NachtGraves



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Fluff, Gay For You, M/M, Minor Original Character(s), Misunderstandings, Roommates, another college au, awkward idiots, eren/levi reference, marco the horse ranch boy, no homo jean is very homo for marco, reiner/annie/bertolt reference
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-10
Updated: 2017-06-26
Packaged: 2018-05-25 23:06:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 39,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6213784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NachtGraves/pseuds/NachtGraves
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jean was-no-IS straight. But Marco, man.</p><p>College was supposed to be a time of fun, adventure, strengthening his identity, partying, getting some space from his overprotective mother, and pursuing a degree in law. Questioning why he wanted to do...erm, intimate...cough...things with his new roomate was not supposed to be on the list.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Not a Burglar

**Author's Note:**

> Heyyo. So I've never posted anything to AO3 before but figured I could post this wip. I started this December of 2014 and take forever to update. It's posted on fanfiction.net and wattpad already and I'm gonna upload it here too now. So yeah. Hope you enjoy wanted to smack Jean over the head constantly.

“Yes. No. No. Yes, mom. I… Mom. Mom! Mom, I’m _fine_. No, I do not need you to come and pick me up. I’m fine. No, there are no drug dealers living next door nor are there prostitutes. Yes, I can get to the university easily. No. Yes. Yes. I am in the exact same condition as I was when you called me ten minutes ago. Mom. Mom, I’m… Mom! Stop worrying! No, no, don’t cry. Please, _mom_. I promise I’ll call you if anything happens but honestly, nothing will. I am _fine_ , mom. I promise. Honest. No, I haven’t met him yet. He’s not home right now. He said he’d be at his job when I arrived and won’t be back till six. He is not a drug dealer, mom. Well, no… The place doesn’t look like it’s being lived in by a drug dealer. Mom. No, I don’t know what a drug dealer’s apartment looks like, I’m just saying! Mom, nothing is going to happen to me and even if something does happen, I know how to defend myself. I will be fine. Yes, I’ll call you. Mom, that’s ridiculous. I can’t call you _every_ night. I promise to call you once a week, okay? Yes, mom. Je t’aime aussi, maman.”

Jean sighed once the call ended and flopped onto the brown couch. It wasn’t long enough to hold his entire length so his ankles and a little less than a quarter of his calves were hanging over the edge. He stared up at the white ceiling, the only thing disrupting the blankness being the light fixtures and the air conditioning unit against one of the walls.

Jean told himself that he should probably move his bags from the entrance and figure out which was his room. He should also get himself acquainted with the two-bedroom apartment, as he would be living in it for at least the next two years, maybe all four.

But he was way too tired and the brown couch was much too comfortable to get up from.

* * *

 “Aagh!”

Jean shot up from the couch, but he had forgotten where he was and so he ended up falling onto the hardwood floor with a resounding thud.

“Fuck,” he groaned, grimacing as he got to his knees, rubbing his back. He was definitely going to have some kind of bruising. Maybe he could convince his roommate to invest in carpeting? Really fluffy, soft, and padded carpeting?

Jean heard footsteps and grumbling until the source of the noises came into view.

It was a boy Jean had never seen before. He had short black hair and a dusting of freckles across his nose and cheeks. He had a bag slung over one shoulder and was wearing a pair of old jeans and a plaid flannel shirt over a ragged t-shirt.

The newcomer stopped dead in his tracks when he saw Jean kneeling on the floor, holding his back as if he were some ninety-year-old man with a bad spine.

“Well you’re certainly not a burglar,” Freckles said, his lips quirking up into a small grin.

Jean rolled his eyes and got to his feet, “Don’t judge people by appearances. I could be a serial killer that focuses on freckle faced individuals.”

The boy laughed, “I’m generally a good judge of character. I’m Marco. Marco Bodt.”

“Jean Kirstein. I’m assuming you’re the guy from the website?”

Marco nodded, “Yes. It’s pretty convenient, huh? Made roommate hunting a lot easier and I didn’t have to worry about some forty year old serial rapist answering my ad.”

Jean nodded. Truthfully, that website caused him a lot of trouble. Well, his mom was the source of that trouble as she had been fussing over him when he was on it even though it was almost a hundred percent safe. It was a website that only students of Trost University could access. Many used it to find potential roommates as the dorm fees at TU were ridiculously high and it was cheaper to split the rent of a nearby apartment with one or two, sometimes three, other people.

Jean scratched the back of his neck, “So, I’ll go grab my bags from the front.”

“How about I show you around first?” Marco offered.

Jean nodded and Marco showed Jean around the simple apartment. There was a white tiled kitchenette, the living room he had fallen asleep in, one bathroom, and two bedrooms right next to each other.

“This one’s yours,” Marco said as he opened the door to the left. Inside, the set up was simple; twin bed, closet, desk, chair, and bookshelf. Jean immediately knew that the bookshelf would continue to collect dust or be the storage space for junk he was no doubt going to end up collecting somehow over the next couple years.

Jean walked up to the window and looked out, whistling low, “Nice view.”

Seeing as they were on the fourth floor, they got a pretty nice view of the Trost skyline. Trost wasn’t a city full of skyscrapers; the tallest building being only twelve floors high. Jean could even see the university not too far away. Definitely walking distance as Marco had promised.

“So, you like it?” Marco asked, biting his lip.

“Yeah, man, it’s great,” Jean said. “Now I just need to get a job. I’ve got money saved up from my old job back home but that won’t last four years.”

“You can try the Career Services office on campus or the old fashioned way of dropping into every store that has a _hiring_ sign,” Marco said, leading the way out of Jean’s room and back to the entry way to help Jean with his bags. “The latter was how I got my part time gig at this café a couple blocks away.”

“I’ll check it out after freshers’ week,” Jean said, picking up his duffle while Marco grabbed his suitcase. When they deposited the bags in Jean’s new room, Jean’s phone went off.

“Goddammit,” Jean groaned, already knowing whom it would be. “ _Maman, pourquoi_?”

Marco gave Jean a funny look as Jean dug through his pocket to grab his phone, groaning at the screen as he saw that he was right on the mark.

“Mom, seriously? I _just_ got off the phone with you,” Jean whined. He winced as his mother yelled at him before replying, “Désolé. I’m tired, that’s all. I fell asleep on the couch. Nothing happened, I am in one complete piece and drug free. Yes, he’s back. What? I can’t, mom, no, please. Ugh, fine.”

Marco stood awkwardly near the bed, wringing his hands in front of him. He was looking everywhere but at Jean and seemed unsure of whether to leave or stay.

Jean sighed and eyed Marco with an inquisitive gaze as he informed his overprotective mother, “Black hair, freckles across his nose and cheeks, alert brown eyes, no signs of redness around the irises, about 180 centimeters, jeans and a flannel over a t-shirt, fit, no visible needle marks, no tattoos, no piercings, no facial hair, white teeth. Is that enough, mom, he probably thinks I’m some kind of creep now.”

Jean closed his eyes as his mother yammered on in his ear. He knew she meant well, but she was a bit more than a little overprotective. He didn’t want to imagine what would have happened if he had a younger sister. He’d pity the kid for sure.

Finally, his mother finished and Jean smiled softly as she started to get sentimental and weepy again, “I know. I miss you too. _Je t’aime, maman_. I’ll see you soon.”

Jean pocketed his phone and looked up to realize that Marco was still there. He flushed bright red, “Uh, sorry. My mom’s a bit… you know.”

Marco smiled and shook his head, “First time away from home?”

Jean sighed, “No, though you wouldn’t be able to tell with the way she’s been acting. This’ll just be the longest and farthest.”

Marco nodded, “My dad’s not so bad but he’s only three hours away by car. Let’s go out and get dinner. We can get to know each other over some steaks. My treat.”

“Who am I to say no to free food?” Jean said with a grin.


	2. Not a Dick

Steaks were a fantastic idea even if they were served by a high schooler who seemed to have an eternal stick up his ass.

“So, you’re French?” Marco asked, finally breaking the silence that had hovered over them since they left the apartment.

“Yeah, partially. My dad was German, or so I’ve been told.” At Marco’s puzzled expression, Jean explained, “I never met him. Died before I was born in a shipwreck.”

“Oh, I’m sorry for bringing it up,” Marco worried his bottom lip and Jean had to smile at the freckled man. Usually, he got annoyed whenever someone apologized for his father’s death; it wasn’t like they could have done anything about it, so why apologize for something that happened more than eighteen years ago? But Marco looked pretty adorab—what?

“It’s fine,” Jean assured him, slightly shaken by where his thoughts were leading him. “What about you?”

“Oh, both my parents are German. I moved down to the outskirts of Trost with my dad when I was six or so, after my parents’ divorce.”

“That must’ve sucked,” Jean replied, grabbing his coke and taking a few sips.

Marco shrugged, “I was too young to understand what was happening and I’ve always been more of a daddy’s boy.”

“So, outskirts, huh? You a little farm boy then?”

“You could say that. My dad’s got a ranch and we used to breed and train horses but now he’s only taking care of a couple. I used to sneak off and go on midnight rides through the pastures.”

“You don’t look much like someone who’d enjoy taking the reigns and riding,” Jean commented.

Marco blushed, taking Jean by surprise. The Trost raised German boy’s freckles stood out more on his reddened skin and he was nibbling on his bottom lip again. Jean couldn’t stop staring at the piece of abused pink flesh.

“Uh, well, I,” Marco stuttered and there it was again. That thought. _Cute_.

Jean looked away when the waiter from before arrived with their meals.

“Here,” the boy snipped, dropping the plates in front of them. He left without another word.

“So not getting a tip,” Jean muttered, helping Marco trade plates. The kid had switched up their orders.

“Maybe he’s just having a bad day and taking it out on us?” Marco suggested. “You’ve probably been a dick when you were in a bad mood or had a not so great day.”

Jean rolled his eyes, grabbing the barbeque sauce provided on each table and drowning his steak, “I’m always a dick. Voted dickiest dick in the yearbook.”

Marco laughed, “That I do not believe.”

“Which part? Because it wasn’t the official yearbook, obviously. The yearbook council put all the _great_ ideas rejected under the ‘not school appropriate’ clause into a webpage thing. Director’s cut of the yearbook.”

“But you’re so nice,” Marco insisted.

Jean scoffed, “That’s the first time I’ve ever heard that.” Although, thinking on it, Jean realized that his dickish tendencies hadn’t risen to the occasion since meeting Marco. Well. The other boy would be quickly disillusioned.

“No but it’s true. I was so relieved that my roommate wasn’t a total jerk.”

Jean shrugged and worked on his steak. “What about you? Any high school superlatives?”

Again, Marco flushed red. He studiously cut his fish steak, taking great care in each saw of his knife.

Jean couldn’t pass up the opportunity, “Oh? What was it? C’mon, I told you mine.” Teasing was not something Jean did but he couldn’t help himself.

“Yours wasn’t embarrassing,” Marco mumbled.

“Dude, we’re going to be living together for the next two to four years. I’ll learn all sorts of embarrassing things about you,” Jean justified. “Besides, the picture they used for that stupid title was completely unflattering.”

“Then I’ll tell you if you show me that website,” Marco compromised.

“Hell no. I told you about the title, now your turn.”

“ _Jean_ ,” Marco whined. Jean felt a jolt where he most certainly should _not_ be feeling jolts when another _male_ whined his name, even if the pronunciation was like liquid and very close to accurate for someone without a French accent.

Jean cleared his throat and made sure his napkin was securely on his lap, “N-no.”

Marco huffed and mumbled something that Jean couldn’t understand.

“What? Speak up.”

Heaving a tortured sigh, Marco grumbled, “Most innocent and the cutest baby.”

Jean burst out laughing.

“Jean!” Marco complained. “It was horrible. I don’t even know how they got a hold of one of my baby pictures or the one they used for the most innocent and then it was in the yearbook and I _still_ don’t get any slack.”

“I really want to see those pictures,” Jean chuckled.

“No way, not gonna happen. _Ever_ ,” Marco replied adamantly.

They finished their meal talking about likes and dislikes as when they had communicated through the website, they only discussed living habits, saving the ‘getting to know you’ conversations for when they met in person. They didn’t have all that much in common. For one, Marco liked to read and was studying to become a children’s psychologist. Jean wasn’t all that hyped about kids, they tended to be scared of him, and his textbooks were the only form of reading he did, and even that wasn’t of his own volition. Jean was a city kid, not a fan of the outdoors, but ranch boy Marco loved spending time under the sun or stars. His tanned complexion was a testament to that.

Marco paid and, despite Jean’s disbelief, tipped their pissy waiter, and the two left the restaurant to walk back to their apartment. They walked in a companionable silence, Jean taking in the surroundings. Trost was a quaint little city. Jean was from somewhat of a metropolis so the quietness of Trost was something new. He hadn’t decided whether he liked it or not yet but he had plenty of time to think it over.

They were a block from the apartment building when Jean stopped in his tracks, squinting across the road.

“Jean?” Marco asked. “What’s wrong.”

“Nothing…I thought I…what the fuck?” Jean marched across the street and slid into an alley between two stores. “HEY!” he yelled.

He faintly realized Marco was chasing after him but red and rage were at the front of his mind right then.

“Hey, leave her alone!” Jean ordered, storming up to the trio. Two guys, a bit shorter than Jean but considerably buffer, were crowding around a really short, blond haired girl. It was clear their presence was not welcomed.

“Shit,” one of them muttered before pushing the girl into the wall and taking off down the alley. Jean ran after them but they climbed over a fence and ran out of sight. Jean cursed and punched the chain-link fence before turning back around. Marco was tending to the girl and when they both noticed his return, the girl ran up to him.

“Thank you so much,” she smiled up at him gratefully. She had big, crystalline blue eyes; the picture of innocence and it only infuriated Jean more.

“It’s fine. Be more careful next time and call for help,” Jean replied. “Can you get home on your own?”

The girl nodded, “I’ll be fine. Thank, again. Could I get your name?”

“Jean.”

“I’m Krista. Thank you so much, I’ve got to go now though. I hope I see you and Marco again.”

The three exited the alley and Krista scurried off in the opposite direction Jean and Marco were headed. The two resumed their walk back to their apartment but Jean could tell Marco was itching to say something.

“What?” Jean snapped.

“And you said you weren’t nice,” Marco mocked. He had a smug little grin on his face that Jean couldn’t get pissed at. “You’re so not a dick.”

Jean made a noncommittal grunt.


	3. Not in the Gay Way

Freshman orientation day was busy. Jean was glad he had Marco to lead him around, as the other boy had apparently come down to TU on various occasions during high school for integration events and such, thereby already knowing most of his way around. They were supposed to make their way to one of the auditoriums – TU had three of them – and Jean was still half asleep. Marco was an early riser, Jean had come to realize quickly. Marco went on hour-long morning jogs that started at five _every day_. He had invited Jean to join him but waking up before the sun was not Jean’s cup of tea and Marco never pushed the subject after a bit of minor teasing.

“We can get you coffee after the welcome speeches,” Marco assured him, noticing how Jean dragged his feet and continuously yawned. It was rather obvious.

“Mhmm,” Jean mumbled. He was trailing sluggishly behind Marco, just trying to keep his eyes open long enough to avoid crashing into people or walls. One mug of coffee was not enough for him to be functional before ten a.m., much less when it was only half past seven and he had been up until around three.

Since Marco was one to be early, they didn’t have to push through a crowd of incoming freshman to get into the auditorium that Marco said was reserved for the drama department. As the place was mostly empty and neither of them knew anyone else, they decided to sit together along the edge of the middle section of seats. Jean flopped down in the cushioned folding chair with a heavy sigh, head tilted back, eyes closed, arms limp over the arm rests, and legs sprawled as far as the compact seating allowed.

“Really not a morning person, are you?” Marco chuckled from next to him.

“It’s been near a week. If you haven’t figured that out by now, you’re kind of a fucking retard,” Jean murmured.

His dickish tendencies had, as Jean predicted, come to shine over the course of the past couple days. Still, Marco was convinced he was a genuinely nice person and refused to believe otherwise. Jean let his roommate believe what he wanted; he’d realize the error of his thinking sooner or later. Probably sooner.

Jean almost fell back asleep but someone knocked his head to the side, bending his neck in a way necks shouldn’t be bent.

“Hey, watch where you’re going!” he scowled, massaging his neck. He looked up and saw a boy with green eyes and short black hair. He was with a shorter boy with longish blond hair and blue eyes.

“Jean,” Marco whispered next to him in an attempt to calm him down, but Jean’s scowl turned murderous when he recognized the green-eyed boy who was staring down at him.

“Jaeger!? What the fuck are _you_ doing here?” Jean shot up from his seat, every detail of sleep forgotten from his mind.

“Kirstein,” Eren sneered.

Jean and Eren stood face to face, glare to glare. Jean found spiteful glee in the fact that Eren was still shorter than him as, had they been on even ground, Eren’s eyes would be a good couple centimeters down.

“Jean,” Marco tugged on Jean’s sleeve. Jean saw that Eren’s blond friend was doing the same to Eren.

“Eren, we’ll get in trouble,” the short blond boy whispered to Eren.

“Boyfriend?” Jean scoffed. He didn’t notice Marco wince.

“I could say the same to you,” Eren retorted.

Jean rolled his eyes, ignoring the jump in his chest and clenching of his stomach at the idea of Marco as his—nope. “Roommate,” Jean said curtly.

“Best friend,” Eren replied just as shortly.

The blond boy sighed and looked to Marco, “I’m sorry.”

“Me too,” Marco replied.

Jean and Eren’s heads snapped to their respective pacifist, “Why the hell are you apologizing?”

They turned to glare at each other, “Piss off!”

“Stop copying me!”

“Shut up!”

“Fucking quit it—”

“—horseface!”

“—incestuous bastard!”

They stared at each other in shock. The silence lasted all of two seconds.

“What the fuck did you call me?!”

“Oi, brats, that’s enough!”

Both Jean and Eren found themselves crouched on the floor nursing their now throbbing heads as they moaned in pain.

When they looked up, a very short man with cropped black hair and thinly framed glasses perched on his nose was glaring down at them. Eren’s friend and Marco were standing pale faced, unsure as to what to do. Jean noticed that the auditorium had filled up since he had been half asleep and they were the center of attraction.

“Professor, we’re so sorry,” Marco stuttered.

The small man narrowed his eyes at Jean and Eren, “Get up, idiots.” Jean and Eren obeyed immediately when it looked like the professor was going to strike them again. “Classes haven’t even started yet and you’re already causing problems. I don’t care what petty squabble you two find yourselves in; I will not be lenient the next time you cause a disturbance. Understood?”

“Yes, sir,” Jean and Eren replied. For a tiny man, he was terrifying. He oozed authority and dominance, eyes a stone cold grey.

When the man walked away, Eren and Jean scowled at each other before Eren’s blond friend pulled Eren away and Marco tugged on Jean’s arm to make him sit down.

“Care to explain?” Marco asked in a hushed whisper.

Jean grimaced, “Eren Jaeger, dickface extraordinaire. He’s an arrogant asshole with a holier-than-thou attitude off the charts.”

Marco raised a brow, “That doesn’t really explain why you two seem to hate each other’s guts.”

“We don’t ‘seem’ to. We do. His school came over to mine for some sports event thing and we’ve hated each other since we met. Why the fuck is he at Trost? And I’m not a horse, the fucking prick.”

Marco bit his lip and Jean glared at him harshly.

Marco shrugged and raised his hands defensively, “To be fair…your face is a bit long so I can see how that nickname came about.”

Jean’s glare intensified, “I know where you sleep, Bodt.”

“It’s not a bad thing. Some people do look weird but you look attractive and…uh, I mean,” Marco’s eyes widened and his face lit up as he stumbled over his words.

Jean’s scowl weakened as he felt his cheeks heat up in response to the compliment and Marco’s flustered flailing.

Marco trailed off into silence, face burning, and freckles shining like tiny little stars as he fidgeted in his seat and looked at his lap.

Jean rubbed the back of his neck, “Uh, thanks, man.”

“No problem,” Marco squeaked, still completely embarrassed.

Feeling as if he needed to say something more in return, Jean added, “And, uh, you’re pretty attractive too, like, pretty cute.” That was not what Jean had wanted to say and he quickly added, “But you know, not in the gay way. Like, I as another dude can see that chicks would find you attractive, you know? The chicks that go for the cute freckled guys ‘cause they’re adorable and you want to, uh, yeah, you know…”

Now Jean was red faced and stumbling over his words. Being nice was not something he was used to. He just sounded like the most awkward teenager ever. Being a dick was much easier.

Marco was rubbing his hands together and didn’t seem able to look at Jean, not that Jean could look at Marco either.

“Uh, so why did you call Eren an incestuous bastard?” Marco asked.

Jean was grateful for the subject change and replied, “There’s been rumors of him boning his sister. I’ve never met her but I bet she’s just as annoying and ugly as her brother.”

Marco raised a brow, “Your insult was based on rumors?”

Jean shrugged, “It was a common rumor, easiest way to get him pissed and off his high horse. He’s super sensitive and defensive about anything to do with his sister, which is why the rumors came about. Apparently she’s just as protective of him or something.”

Marco didn’t get a chance to comment as the lights dimmed and a man with a prominent square jaw and slicked back blond hair, who Jean vaguely recognized as someone important in the school, stood to the podium.

Everyone quieted down and Jean relaxed into the seat, ready to be bored out of his mind.

The man stood straight and cast a calculating gaze over the other freshman before beginning.

“Good morning…” and that was where Jean zoned out.


	4. Not Feel a Pulse of Heat

“…n…an…Jean, Jean, wake up.”

Jean moaned low and slowly cracked one eye open as he tilted his head up. Marco was looking down at him from an angle.

He blinked blearily and realized he was leaning to the side, his neck was cradling something warm and firm, and his head was nestled comfortably in something.

The first something was Marco’s shoulder. The second something was the junction between Marco’s neck and shoulder.

Jean shot up and looked around, trying to figure out where he was.

“The drama department’s auditorium at TU,” Marco supplied. “You fell asleep as soon as Mr. Smith started talking.” There was an amused lilt to his tone.

Jean yawned and rubbed his eyes, “Not like I missed anything important.”

Marco stood up and shrugged, “Depends on what you consider important. We’ve got the actual orientation in a few hours. They split us up into groups that we’ll find out right before the official tour.”

Jean nodded and got to his feet, stretching his arms over his head. “Coffee. I really need coffee.”

Marco laughed and the two walked out of the empty auditorium, heading for the small café that was a five-minute walk away.

The coffee shop was packed. Jean groaned at the line that was much too long. Honestly, even if it had been just one person it would have been too long for him. He wanted his coffee _now_.

Marco gave him a sympathetic pat on the back, “Think you can hold on for a bit longer?”

Jean pondered for a few seconds before asking, “Do we have time to go back home, get our fill of coffee and then be back in time for orientation?”

Marco blinked, “Yeah, actually, that’s a much better plan. We’ll have plenty of time. We’ve got to be back in the main courtyard by noon. We can even make a quick snack since lunch won’t be until pretty late.”

Jean needed no further discussion and grabbed Marco’s hand, pulling the slightly taller boy out of the coffee shop and towards the exit. With his mind so focused on the promise of several cups of coffee, Jean was completely unaware that he had been holding Marco’s hand with a firm grip the entire short walk to their apartment. It was only when he moved his right hand to try and get his key from his wallet in his back pocket and felt a second hand on his ass, did he realize something was amiss.

Jean dropped Marco’s warm and slightly calloused hand like it was a blue flame. “Shit, sorry, I didn’t mean to—I was just, um, coffee.”

Marco, face red and unable to look Jean in the eye, shrugged, “It’s fine. Seriously. I should have said something but…”

The two stood staring down at their own feet in front of each other. Awkward tension permeated the air and Jean was doing his goddamn best to forget how empty and cold his right hand felt all of a sudden. Jerkily, he went for his keys again and after fumbling with the lock, managed to open the door to their apartment. Jean immediately went for the kitchen; specifically the coffee machine he had bought for the apartment almost immediately after finding out Marco didn’t have one.

Coffee would make things better. Coffee would clear his head. Coffee would make him stop thinking about how fucking adorable Marco looked all sheepish and shy and embarrassed and flustered and how it would have felt like if Marco’s palm, rather than the back of his hand, had been on his ass.

Jean drank the entire pitcher of coffee before looking to see where Marco had disappeared to.

The German boy was in the bathroom, Jean concluded after hearing the toilet flush and tap run.

“Marco, you want coffee?” Jean knocked on the door.

“I’m good,” Marco replied. Jean frowned at his tone. Even muffled through the wooden door, something sounded off.

“You okay?” Jean asked, resting his knuckles against the door.

“Yeah, fine.”

Jean was not convinced, but he left Marco alone and went back to the kitchen to make a quick snack. They had a good hour and a bit until they were due back at the university.

Jean decided to whip up some bruschetta. It was easy and quick and he was grudgingly grateful that his mother had forced him to learn how to cook during the previous year. Overprotective as she was, at least he knew he wasn’t going to starve or turn to instant noodles and takeout for every meal.

Marco joined him in the kitchen and appeared to be normal enough, with the exception of he collar of his shirt looking damp, but Jean only told him to dice tomatoes. They worked in companionable silence, and before long, their snack was sitting between them on the island in the kitchen, quickly being devoured.

“So how are the groups going to be split?” Jean asked as they were cleaning up.

“Mr. Smith didn’t say. Probably by last names though,” Marco replied.

Jean nodded before cursing loudly when realization struck.

Marco jumped in alarm, “What? What’s wrong? Did you get hurt?”

Before Jean could reply and correct the freckled boy’s misunderstanding, Marco had Jean facing him so he could look and feel for any signs of injury.

“Whoa, Marco,” Jean almost squeaked as a shiver ran down his spine when Marco’s hands flitted over his chest. “I’m f- _ah_ -fine!”

Marco’s hands froze, one on Jean’s chest and the other on his side. Jean couldn’t help but be glad that Marco’s hand was on the right side of his chest. It made the possibility of the other boy not knowing how fast Jean’s heart was racing a bit higher. His cherry red face however was clear evidence of how affected he was. Along with the slight stir below his waist.

The two boys stood stock still, seeming to have a competition to see who could turn the most red.

Marco was the first to snap out of it and backed off quickly, as if Jean were raw electricity.

“S-sorry,” he sputtered, biting his lip.

Jean took a few seconds to get his body under some semblance of control before replying somewhat shakily, “Uh, it’s fine.” He almost thought that it would be more than fine if Marco put his hands back on him, but Jean shut that thought down almost as soon as his brain decided to think it. “Let’s get going.”

Marco nodded without a word and the two left their apartment. The short walk differed greatly from the previous two times they had made it together. Charged silence shrouded them and neither could look at each other. Jean practically ran away from Marco after they saw where the groups were meeting.

* * *

 

The chest touching incident where Jean most certainly did not feel a pulse of heat go straight to his dick was brought to the forefront of Jean’s mind when he met up with his orientation group and saw Eren talking to some other students. The catalyst of the aforementioned incident was when Jean had realized that if the groups were indeed organized by last name, the odds of Eren being in his group were annoyingly high. Marco had misinterpreted his dismay for pain and well… the aforementioned, never to be thought about again, incident had occurred.

So, obviously, it was all Eren’s fault.

“Jean!”

Jean looked away from Eren’s head, disappointed that the oversized body part hadn’t spontaneously combusted, to see who had called him.

A tiny blond girl who looked incredibly familiar was grinning at him. She had big blue eyes that were reminiscent to a glistening precious stone, like she was some sort of angelic deity. It took a moment for him to remember her name.

“Krista,” Jean greeted before frowning. “You’re a student here?” She looked more like a _high school_ freshman at best.

Krista nodded, “Yes. What a coincidence! But who were you glaring at?”

Jean glanced over to scowl at Eren’s back before replying bitterly, “Just an arrogant prick.”

Before Krista could further question Jean, a piercing whistle echoed in the air and everyone jumped, turning to the source of the sound. Jean almost groaned. It was the midget professor.

The new students gathered in a semi-circular pack, facing the incredibly short man who still managed to be the most intimidating person Jean had ever met. It was more than mildly disconcerting.

The professor looked incredibly bored with the slightest hint of irritation flickering in his sharp grey eyes. “Okay, brats. If you do not know, I’m Levi Ackerman, Professor to all of you, whether I teach you or not. Pay attention, no questions until the end, and keep up.”

Without another word, the professor turned on his heeled boots – that didn’t do much for his height, in Jean’s opinion – and headed for the nearest building which was the campus bookstore.

It took a moment, but soon, the group of freshman hurried to catch up. For a man with such short legs, he could move incredibly quickly.

Professor Ackerman gave curt explanations of the buildings they passed. Pointing them out with disinterest and ignoring any questions some people unwittingly asked. Jean just tried to keep up with the short man. He was wary of the professor’s deceptively dainty hands. While slightly feminine, they packed quite the punch and ghost pains throbbed at the back of Jean’s head whenever he glanced at them.

In no time at all, they were shown which buildings contained which department, recreational areas, the main cafeteria, campus minimart, main offices, auditoriums, library, dormitories, campus security, and the two coffee shops.

Jean didn’t pay much attention to the areas that he knew he wouldn’t venture to. All he needed to know were the buildings in which his classes were located and where he could get food. And maybe the library for when exams or due dates for papers were approaching and the Internet or his textbooks weren’t being helpful.

They finished the tour at the cafeteria where a buffet of sorts was set up for the starved students. Jean was rather glad he and Marco had had a snack. Many had muttered quietly about being famished halfway through, but none dared say anything to Professor Ackerman after he soundly cut down one girl who had asked when lunch was.

Jean ignored the long line and went to find a seat. He wasn’t in the mood to be shoved and elbowed. He found a circular table near a corner and plopped down, tilting his chair back to balance against the wall. It wasn’t long before Krista showed up, frowning in concern.

“You’ll fall,” she said.

Jean shrugged, “I’ll be fine.”

“Okay,” she replied, not entirely convinced. “Are you going to get anything to eat?”

“I’m waiting for the line to shrink. And I had a snack before coming back for the tour so I can hold off a bit.”

Krista smiled, “That was a smart idea. Mind if I sit with you?”

Jean waved to one of the chairs and Krista took a seat. They both chatted about what they thought of the university as they waited for the rest of the freshmen to grab their food and then a seat. Jean found himself glancing around and taking note of his potential classmates.

He saw Eren and his blond friend standing in line talking to a girl dressed in black leather. Her blond hair was moderately short and tied back, but Jean couldn’t help but think she was the poster child for a biker chick. She had been in his group too, but stuck to the back, ice cold blue eyes observing everyone else like a scientist watching insects. Her features were sharp and fierce. Jean knew she wasn’t one to be messed with.

“Who’s that?” Jean asked Krista, tilting his chin in the biker chick’s direction. While he had been antisocial during the tour, Krista had mingled with various people during the professor’s silences between destinations. She was a social butterfly, he quickly figured out. She easily fit in with people with her polite and angelic demeanor.

Krista looked over her shoulder, “Who?”

“The blonde girl with Jaeger and his friend.”

“Oh, that’s Annie. Annie Leonhart. And Eren’s friend is Armin Artlet. Why?”

“No reason really, just curious. And she looks like she wouldn’t hesitate to rip my head off my shoulders if I accidently offended her.”

Krista laughed. Just like her appearance, it was delicate and airy.

Just then, a giant of a woman came towards their table. Jean frowned in confusion when she marched straight for Krista.

“Hey, Kris—“” his warning was cut off when the approaching dark skinned woman called out Krista’s name.

Krista beamed as she turned around, “Ymir!”

Jean watched with a dropped jaw as Krista was lifted out of her seat and into Ymir’s arms, the two then sharing a rather heated kiss although it was obvious that Krista had intended for a light peck. When the much smaller girl was set back on her feet, her porcelain skin flushed a healthy, cheerful red, Jean was reminded of a tanner, taller, broader, freckled person with flushed skin.

And immediately threw that thought right out of his head.

“Ymir,” Krista rolled her eyes.

Ymir simply grinned and then caught sight of Jean, eyes narrowing, “The hell are you?”

Jean raised a brow in surprise. What had he done?

“Ymir!” Krista reprimanded. “This is Jean, he’s the one who helped me the other day.”

“Oh,” Ymir’s glare softened and the grin was back on her face. “You’re not so bad then.” She plopped down onto a chair, pulling Krista down next to her and pushing their chairs close together, slinging an arm around Krista’s dainty shoulders. Ymir pecked Krista’s head then turned a sadistic grin towards Jean, “But if you do _anything_ to her, I will gut you like a fish and string you up by your dick after taking a vegetable peeler to it.”

Jean’s face blanched and he could do nothing but nod fearfully as his hands went to his lap to cover his crotch protectively.

Krista groaned and rolled her eyes, “Ymir.”

Ymir’s grin turned loving as she looked to her girlfriend, “Just telling it how it is, babe.”

“Um, so, how long have you two been together?” Jean asked, thinking it was a safe question.

“Three years,” Krista beamed, Ymir following suit and Jean was glad he asked the right question.

“Cool. Are you a freshman too?”

Ymir shook her head, “Nah, one year older than you guys. I volunteered to help out with orientation but they wouldn’t let me pick the group I wanted to lead. Got stuck with this group with this one kid that was definitely dropped on his head as a child. Prof A wasn’t too hard on you, was he? The guy’s got the biggest stick up his ass, I swear.”

“He wasn’t that bad. He yelled at one person but that was it,” Krista replied.

“He’s got one hell of a hand though,” Jean muttered, rubbing the back of his head.

Ymir’s eyes widened, “Holy shit, that was you? Man, you are _screwed_ if you’ve got any classes with him. How did you manage to get on his bad side so quickly?”

“It wasn’t just me,” Jean defended. “That dickface Jaeger started it.”

Ymir shrugged, “Fuck who started it, you and that other guy are on A’s shit list. You taking business or law classes?”

“Yes… I’m majoring in law.”

Ymir burst out laughing, “Oh man, I wish I was in one of your classes. You’re in for quite the next few years. Prof A teaches pretty much all the law classes and a good number of the business ones.”

Jean groaned and got to his feet, “I’m gonna go and kill myself by over eating now.”

By then, the line had shortened considerably and Jean didn’t have to wait long to get a plate full of greasy French fries and several slices of pizza. As he headed towards the drink dispensers, eyes on the Cherry Cola, he barely avoided crashing into someone.

“Hey—” The rest of his words were caught in his throat as he stared slack jawed at the girl- _woman_ in front of him. She was the most beautiful person he had ever seen. Her _hair_. It was short and silky, black as ink. Thin lips and a red scarf around her neck that stood out against her milky skin. Her features were elegant, tied strongly to her obvious Japanese heritage.

“Sorry,” the girl said, stepping back and putting some space between Jean and herself.

Jean blinked and shook his head, “Oh, no, I mean, I’m sorry. I should have been watching where I was going. I’m Jean Kissme—I mean, Kirstein, Jean _Kirstein_.”

The girl stared at Jean with mild curiosity. As she was about to speak, another voice, one Jean really did not want to hear, called out.

“Mikasa!”

Eren came up to Jean and Mikasa, glaring at the former.

Jean returned the glare.

“Stay away from my sister, Kirstein,” Eren growled, stepping in front of Mikasa.

Jean’s jaw dropped for a second time. This time in horror. “What? There is no way your ugly face is related to her!”

A hand placed itself on Jean’s shoulder as he and Eren made a move towards each other. Eren’s blond sidekick, Armin, had come up as well and gripped Eren’s shirt, Mikasa had gone for his arm and Eren seemed to be in pain from where her grip was.

Jean looked over his shoulder to snap at whoever was trying to get him to not smash Eren’s face in and blinked in surprise at seeing Marco’s big brown eyes.

“Jean, you’re going to get in trouble again,” Marco said, gently tugging him away. “You can have your standoff with him when you won’t get kicked out before classes even start.”

Jean was reluctant, but when Marco attempted to look firm, he relented and let Marco lead him back to the table with Krista and Ymir. Another two people had joined them, a red haired girl and bald headed boy who seemed to be having a private eating contest of foods made from potatoes.

“You’re gonna end up with a reputation if you keep this up, Jean,” Ymir said as Jean sat down and started stabbing his food.

Jean grumbled in response before reaching for his drink, only to realize he never got it.

“What do you want?” Marco asked, getting up from his seat. When Jean only frowned in reply, he added, “To drink. I’m going to get iced tea.”

“Oh, Cherry Cola. Thanks, man.” Jean’s bad mood instantly disappeared as he watched Marco grin and head over to the dispensers.

Jean tore his gaze away from Marco when he heard an odd sound and frowned at the knowing look Ymir was giving him.

“What?” he asked.

Ymir hummed, “Oh, nothing.”


	5. Not Boner Inducing

When the first day of classes arrived, Jean was not eager to go. He had to attend a seminar to get certain credits required by the university. There had been three choices, and from reading about them, they all sounded extremely boring and pointless. He registered for the one that sounded the least lame, and that was to be his first university class. At fucking 8:00AM.

Marco, the lucky bastard, had his first class in the afternoon and it actually related to his major.

“Why the hell are you up when you don’t even have class?” Jean questioned in disbelief as he double-checked he had everything he thought he’d need for the next few hours.

“I always wake up early for my morning jogs,” Marco reminded him from the kitchen.

“Whatever,” Jean mumbled. He still didn’t understand that ritual and probably never would.

Checking his phone, he saw that he was running a bit late from hitting snooze three too many times. While he debated on whether or not he had enough time to make much needed coffee, Marco came out of the kitchen holding a mug and a plate.

“Can’t let you go without your daily coffee and a bit of breakfast, can I?” he grinned, setting the items down on the coffee table in front of Jean.

Jean stared at the mug of dark coffee and the plate of an already sliced and cream cheese coated bagel before looking at Marco.

“Jesus, you have saved me,” Jean exclaimed, leaving his bag to engulf Marco in a hug.

“I don’t think Jesus had freckles,” Marco chuckled after Jean let him go. His face was beet red and he didn’t seem able to look at Jean. The other boy was oblivious, already having moved onto stuffing his face.

“Freckled Jesus then,” Jean managed to say as he swallowed a bite that should by all means have choked him. “I totally owe you, man.”

Marco shrugged, “I was up anyway, and after I heard your alarm go off three times, I figured you wouldn’t have time to make your own breakfast.”

“Still owe you,” Jean said, finishing off the first half of his bagel and moving onto burning his tongue with coffee. Marco made it just how he liked it. Too bad he had to chug it down or else be late to class.

“Fine, then how about I handle breakfast on the weekdays and you’re in charge of dinner or lunch.”

Jean nodded, “Sounds like a plan. I’ll do lunch today.” He finished off his coffee and walked the dishes back to the kitchen, leaving them in the sink and catching sight of the time on the microwave. He had to really get going.

“Have fun,” Marco told Jean as the latter grabbed his things and headed to the door.

Jean stuck his tongue out at him and asked, “Any requests for lunch?”

“Surprise me,” Marco replied. “Now, seriously, you’re going to be late. I’ll see you later.”

Jean felt the strangest feeling that something was missing as he stood in the doorway, just about to turn and leave.

“Yeah, later,” he replied, ignoring the odd feeling and closing the door behind him.

* * *

Jean barely made it in time.

The room was pretty full and Jean saw many people he did not recognize. He did however recognize Annie, the intimidating biker chick he had yet to speak to sitting in the second row, and Sasha, the red haired girl with an obsession for potatoes he had met at freshman orientation sitting two rows up. The latter noticed him and waved obnoxiously, calling out his name and gesturing to the free seat next to her.

Jean heaved a sigh and walked over, ignoring the snickering from around him.

“Good morning, Jean,” Sasha grinned. Jean gave her a dead stare that she completely ignored. “Gosh, I was thinking that I’d be all alone and not know anyone but then you showed up! Running a bit late though, weren’t you? Did you not hear your alarm? Or forget to set it? I’ve done that so many times. One time—”

“Sasha,” Jean cut her off. “Are you on something?” She was nowhere near this talkative or hyper during orientation. Yes, she said a lot of stupid things and had a lot of jokes and instances of sarcasm fly over her head, but this nonstop chattering was absent.

Sasha blushed, “I _may_ have had a bit too much coffee this morning. I get affected by caffeine really, really, really, really, really—”

“I get it,” Jean interrupted. He used to as well, but over the years of drinking coffee more than a human really should, he built up some tolerance to it. It only meant that he needed more coffee to feel awake which wasn’t really a bad thing, in his opinion.

Jean looked around and spotted Annie again. She was sitting next to a guy who looked like he visited the gym quite frequently. His blond hair was cropped in a military-esque style and he was chatting with Annie who looked like she wanted him to go away.

Checking his phone, Jean saw that class should have started by then, but the professor was nowhere to be seen.

“Hey, Sasha, do you know who the—”

Before he could get the words out of his mouth, the door to the room slammed open, making several students wince and/or jump at the sound and abruptness. A woman with messy brown hair tied up in a high ponytail strode into the room, her white lab coat flowing behind her and a mess of books and files on her arm.

“Good morning, everyone!” she called out cheerfully, dropping her materials on the podium at the center of the lecture hall. She pushed her glasses up higher on her nose and scanned the room with a grin. “Welcome to your first class of the year. For those who do not know, I’m Dr. Hanji Zoe, but Hanji is fine. If you take any biology courses, I will likely be your professor. Questions?”

No one spoke and Jean noticed that a number of the students were staring wide eyed in shock, much like himself. A few others, however, seemed to find this all normal. He figured those students must have been upperclassmen that had Hanji in previous years since the class was offered all four years, but was usually a freshman course since most people wanted to get the credits out of the way.

“None? Great,” Hanji continued. “Then let’s get right into it.” She stepped around the podium and clapped her hands together. “As you should know if you read the course description, this course is all about knowledge. Specifically, how we know what we think we know and the various ways in which we can prove or disprove the validity of various forms of knowledge.”

Jean could already tell that this class was going to be about refining one’s bullshitting abilities in the most confusing manner possible.

* * *

Jean stretched his arms over his head, the last three hours having drained him completely – thank god it was a once a week class and his only class on Mondays. His mind was a mess and he hoped the class wouldn’t continue to be so overwhelming and the abstract concepts would be less confusing over time. Hanji went right into it and now Jean had to look for textbooks to pirate online or at least get second hand because college books were ridiculously priced.

“My head is spinning,” Sasha complained, walking beside Jean as they filed out of the room with the other students who were groaning and griping similarly. “Ymir had said that this class was boring, not so confusing. I’m so hungry, are you going to grab lunch now?”

“Yeah, I promised Marco I’d make lunch in return for him making me breakfast,” Jean replied. He wouldn’t admit it, but part of the reason he didn’t understand a lot of what happened during the lecture was because his mind was otherwise preoccupied with possible meals he could whip up for lunch for two. Which was totally fine since he did owe Marco for that morning. There was no way Jean would have survived the three hours without that cup of perfect coffee and the bagel.

“You two sure are close,” Sasha commented.

Jean shrugged, “We’re roommates.”

In front of them, Jean noticed that Annie was talking with the blond guy – Reiner, he learned when Hanji called on him – that had been sitting next to her. However, now she didn’t seem as irritated with him and was conversing with some level of interest about the topics Hanji had discussed. Annie was clearly an attentive student, which one wouldn’t have guessed from the stereotypes tied to her choice in clothing. She and Reiner seemed to almost battle for the spot as the top student but it was a rivalry that quickly grew friendly, nothing like Jean’s relationship with Eren.

“I’m gonna go, I got to get lunch ready,” Jean told Sasha as they exited the building. Sasha was heading towards the cafeteria to grab lunch which was in the opposite direction of the entrance closest to Jean and Marco’s apartment.

“Bye!” Sasha waved as they parted ways.

On the way back to the apartment, Jean stopped by the grocery store to pick up a few things, quickly realizing that he had to get a job soon. While his mother was going to send him care packages and money – she never failed to ask if he needed anything in their weekly calls and he had to work hard to convince her not to send anything despite him assuring her that he was fine – he wasn’t going to live off her overprotective and caring nature.

“I’m back,” Jean called as he opened the door and closed it behind him, juggling the grocery bags and his bag around. When Marco didn’t reply, Jean frowned and dropped his bag on the couch before keeping the groceries in the kitchen. He noticed a blue sticky note on the fridge door.

_Hey Jean,_

_My phone’s out of credit so I couldn’t call or text you, but I got called in for work and won’t be back until around one. Don’t wait up or bother with making something for me, I’ll just put something together when I get back._

_\- Marco_

_PS: I was looking forward to your food :(_

Jean frowned at the note. It was written in a rush, which only accentuated Marco’s less than neat script, and Jean felt an incredible sense of disappointment. But that was because he had went out and bought ingredients for a meal that was postponed at the very least, not because he was really looking forward to making something that would make Marco smile that amazing smile of his that felt warmer than the sun’s rays after a long and cold winter.

Jean crumpled up the note and tossed it in the trash before systematically storing the groceries to keep his mind on a nice and clean path that was void of a flushed Marco in the midst of an unmentionable act of debauchery.

He grabbed what he needed and set to work making lunch. Even though Marco said not to make anything for him, Jean still wound up preparing a meal for two and Marco was still not due to arrive for about another hour. He left Marco’s half in the pan, putting a lid on top and sat at the kitchen counter to eat his own half.

It was quiet. Jean was used to eating alone since has been just him and his mom for years and she was working a lot, but with the past few weeks, he quickly got used to having someone else join him during meals. Even though he worked part time, Marco still managed to be home for lunch and dinner with Jean.

Jean picked up his phone and started looking up part time job opportunities in Trost. He used to have a part time job at a grocery store during high school and sometimes helped his mother out at the patisserie she worked at, so there was a bit of experience under his belt. Since he had the rest of the day off, he was going to take the opportunity to look around and drop into any place that looked like they were hiring.

When he finished, he cleaned up his dishes and grabbed his laptop, flopping down on his stomach on the couch to begin his search for the textbooks Hanji had said to get as well as sites that would help him find the textbooks he’d no doubt be told to get for his other classes.

At some point, he got distracted and was far too deep into videos of cockatiels whistling popular tunes when the door opened and Marco trudged in.

Jean looked up from his position on the couch and nodded, “Hey, how was work?”

Marco grumbled something about being starved and tired and stumbled to his room after giving Jean vague gestures that seemed to indicate that he would be right back.

Jean, deciding to be a nice roommate, got up from the couch and went to the kitchen to heat up Marco’s half of lunch. He was still waiting for the food to heat up when he heard Marco return to the main room.

“What are you doing?” Marco asked, coming into the kitchen.

“Just heating up your lunch,” Jean replied. When he glanced over to Marco, he was startled by their close proximity. Marco had come up behind him and was looking over his shoulder, eyes fluttering shut as he inhaled.

“Oh my god, that smells so good,” the taller boy moaned, biting his lip in a manner that was definitely not boner inducing. He opened his eyes and stepped to the side, creating some distance between them as he frowned slightly, “But I told you in that note that you didn’t need to.”

“You have class in an hour,” Jean replied by way of an excuse, coupled with a simple and slightly too nonchalant shrug. “Also, make sure you have credit on your phone next time.”

“It was just this once,” Marco grumbled.

Jean finished heating up Marco’s food and served it on a plate. Marco thanked him and immediately dug in, sighing at the first bite. Marco asked him about his first class and Jean learned that Marco had met Hanji during one of the programs he had taken at TU during high school and that he quite liked her, even if she had scared him a bit with her eccentricity and marginally morbid obsession with anatomy.

Marco relayed his morning, complaining about disagreeable patrons who seemed to live off of making employees of restaurants, cafés, and similar establishments miserable. That led to a conversation of Jean looking for a job and Marco suggested some places he could try and Jean made a quick list on his phone for his job hunt run.

Marco finished his meal, thanking Jean with a big, warm grin and slightly flushed freckled cheeks before he grabbed his things for his first class – he had already gotten his things ready in the morning after he came back from his run.

Jean left with Marco, walking him to the university before they parted ways. Jean felt the odd sense of something missing when he saw Marco off but stuck with a simple “See you” and lazy wave.


	6. Not Staring

When Jean got home, he was actually happy. After gradually losing hope, he managed to get lucky and snagged a trial shift at a bakery nearby – though the trial was just a formality and he was already practically hired. The owner was impressed with Jean’s knowledge, and his French background was rather handy as well. He was going to have to thank his mother for forcing him to learn classic French pastry recipes during the next weekly call.

He was eager to tell Marco about his luck. They could celebrate or something, first day of university done and the high chance of him getting a job. They could go out for dinner.

Jean went over to the moderately sized whiteboard Marco had bought for them to keep track of their schedules, which was hung on the wall beside the front door above the small table where they kept various miscellany. It was divided into seven columns with thin pieces of duct tape and both of them filled in their schedule for the week with a colored marker, red for him and green for Marco.

Marco’s class had ended at 3:30, but he had work from four to seven. He might be too tired to go out anywhere.

Scratching the back of his head, Jean mused. “I mean, I could cook something special instead. I did buy a ton of stuff this afternoon for lunch.” Deciding that was the best solution, Jean went to the kitchen to go through what they had to try and decide what to make. He was in the middle of setting aside ingredients for easy access did he realize that one, it was barely five; and two, he was making dinner for his _male_ roommate to celebrate surviving the first day of university and getting a part time job at a bakery, not his girlfriend to celebrate an anniversary.

Marco was male. A guy. A dude. His 100%, XY-chromosome holding roommate. He had a dick. A cock. A penis.

And freckles. And really nice brown eyes. And the warmest smile. And—

And he was a _boy_.

Jean put everything back to where they were and left the kitchen. They were ordering take-out for dinner.

* * *

Jean had just finished showering when he heard the front door shut. He normally took showers right before bed, but after being too distracted to do some of his assignments, he need to feel pellets of hot water pound against his back.

“Jean?” he heard Marco call, accompanied by jingling keys being dropped into the small bowl they kept at the entryway.

“Here!” Jean called back, through the bathroom door. He wiped down enough to not leave a lake with every step he took and wrapped his towel around his waist before leaving the bathroom. “Hey, how was class and work?”

“It was good. I got—ah!” Marco’s sentence cut off as he tripped and went sprawling to the floor, landing with a cringe worthy _thud_. Jean rushed over.

“Shit, you okay?” The fall had sounded more than a bit painful. Jean helped Marco to his feet, concern turning into something else as he saw how red the taller boy’s face had gotten. His freckles were prominent.

“Uh, um, yeah, whoops, clumsy m-me, haha,” Marco replied, refusing to look at Jean. “So, uh, you just show-ah-er-ered?”

Since Marco seemed fine, if a bit jumpy with a cracking voice, Jean let him go. He pushed his damp hair from his face, “Yeah. I couldn’t concentrate and felt like taking one early today. Anyway, I’m too lazy to cook and you’re probably tired after class and work, so want to order in? We can pig out on junk food to celebrate getting through the first day of classes and I pretty much landed a part time job.”

Marco finally looked at him, a proud smile on his still pink tinged face, “Really? That’s great! Where?” Just as quick as he had looked up, his face shot down and to the side again. Jean frowned, puzzled, but didn’t say anything. Because he was definitely not staring and thinking about how adorable red ears were.

“A bakery a couple block from school. I’ve got a trial shift but the owner said it was really just formality and I pretty much have the job.” Jean shivered at a drop of water that crawled down the back of his neck, quickly wiping it away. Marco fidgeted in front of him. “So,” the shorter boy cleared his throat, “preferences for take-out?”

“No,” Marco squeaked, before coughing and repeating in a slightly less high pitched voice, “I mean, uh, no. Not really. Whatever you want. I’m, uh, I’m going to the bathroom. Order whatever.”

Marco rushed past Jean before the confused boy could even think to respond. One moment Marco was in front of him, fidgety and nervous for whatever reason, and the next the bathroom door behind him was being slammed shut.

Scratching the back of his head and staring at the closed bathroom door, Jean sighed and headed to his room. He was beginning to feel cold.

Freshly clothed, and hair as dry as he could be bothered to get it with a towel, Jean gathered up all the various take-out menus they had collected and went through them, trying to decide what he and Marco would enjoy. By the time Marco had showered and dressed in comfy looking pyjamas, Jean was on the phone ordering some Japanese food from a pamphlet he didn’t know they even had. It even had discount coupons that were still valid.

Jean motioned for Marco to get closer and pointed at the items he had ordered as he listened to the person on the other line repeat his order. When Marco nodded with a smile, having no complaints, Jean confirmed their address and cut the call.

“Food’ll be here in thirty or so minutes,” he told Marco.

It took a little less than thirty for the delivery boy to arrive. Jean paid and Marco grabbed cutlery and drinks, setting everything on the coffee table in the living room. Marco turned on the TV, sending Jean a pleading look when a Disney movie was playing on one of the channels.

Jean rolled his eyes to avoid looking any longer and let Marco do what he wanted. The other boy cheered and happily began eating his food as the musical number came to an end.

“Mhmm, this is so good,” Marco sighed, biting into his meal.

Jean nodded in agreement, “Yeah, we should order from here more often. It’s not too expensive either.” Jean was a bit distracted. When he glanced at Marco to reply, his eyes were drawn to Marco’s mouth. Because he had a bit of the sauce at the corner of his lips. No other reason than that. It was distracting and Marco didn’t notice it.

After watching Marco accidentally smudge the spot into a bigger splot, Jean reached out unthinkingly and swiped his thumb across the area, then licked his thumb clean.

Maroc froze as did Jean when he realized what he had done.

“You, uh, sauce,” Jean explained oh so eloquently.

Marco blinked, his complexion steadily increasing in redness.

“So you were saying something before you went crashing to the floor when you got home, right?” Jean abruptly changed the topic, focusing on his own food with determination.

It took Marco a moment to respond. “Oh, yeah, uh, these juniors in my psych course, Bertolt and Reiner, invited me to a party this Friday.”

“Oh,” Jean replied. His body tensed for reasons he couldn’t figure out. He remembered Reiner, but he had no clue who Bertolt was.

“Yeah, well, Reiner did most of the talking, they invited pretty much all the freshmen. They’re part of a fraternity and are holding some kind of party to welcome all the freshman/mark the beginning of the school year. I didn’t know if you had heard about it.”

Jean shook his head, “No. I had Reiner in my seminar this morning but I booked it out of there as soon as I could. He was also busy chatting up Annie.”

Marco frowned, “Annie? Really?”

Raising a brow, Jean nodded, “Yeah, why so surprised. Annie’s pretty hot. Scary, but still hot. Those two got along really quickly by the end of class.”

“Oh, well, I just...I thought Bertolt and Reiner were dating, that’s all.” Marco glanced at Jean, as if gauging his reaction.

Jean shrugged, “It’s not our business. Anyway, you wanna go?”

It was Marco’s turn to shrug, “It sounds like fun but I don’t go to parties all that often and I don’t want to go alone.”

Jean smiled and clapped a hand on Marco’s shoulder, “I’ll be there with you so no worries on that end. Besides, first official college party. It’s a rite of passage.”

Marco beamed at him and Jean felt his cheeks heat up faintly.

They resumed eating and watching the movie for a while until Marco asked, “Hey, uh, just wondering, but what would you think if Reiner were dating Bertolt.”

“Hmm? Well, I wouldn’t really care. They can do what they want. Why?” Jean glanced over.

Marco just shook his head, smiling as if he were both relieved and pleased, as he continued eating, eyes glued back to the animated drawings dancing across the screen.

Jean rolled his eyes. Marco was strange.


	7. Not Be the Only Moaning Mess

Friday rolled around quickly. The week had flown by for Jean in a blur of getting used to his classes, being thrown right into his coursework, and trying not to murder some of the customers at the bakery. That was one of the immediate downsides of working there. A longer lasting one was that he ended up smelling like sugar and confectionary goods after shifts – to which Sasha had gleefully pointed out with Connie, the buzz cut boy whom she had the eating contest with at orientation, backing her just as loudly. Eren had snickered and Marco looked away guiltily because it was just Jean’s luck they all had registered for the same math class, _and_ Professor Ackerman was the teacher.

Jean had words with Marco after the class about not telling him about his new sugary, cake mix scent. The taller boy had scratched his nose, looking away, and mumbled that he liked the added scent, his cheeks a soft pink. Jean figured it wasn't a big deal that he smelled like he took a bath in icing sugar sometimes. Jaeger could suck it.

For the most part, his classes were fine. He had Eren and Professor Ackerman for two of his more challenging classes, unfortunately. He did have one with Mikasa but she stuck by Armin, and Jean somehow ended up sitting with Annie the first day, and then the following two. He was getting used to his schedule, figuring out how to manage his job and course work. But he was still relieved that the weekend had arrived and a party sounded like just the thing to help wind down.

It was nearing 3 PM so Marco was likely on his way home from his last class of the week. Jean’s last class has been Principles of Business Law, a required credit and prerequisite for a number of courses for his degree, which had ended at 1 PM. It was his second class taught by Professor Ackerman, as well as included the insufferable Eren. He had to see the two of them three times a week and Jean just really wanted 7 PM to come quickly so he and Marco could head to the address Reiner gave Marco for the party. It was one of the frat houses on campus, Delta something or another, Jean didn’t really care. All he knew was that there would be copious amounts of beer supplied by the hosting fraternity and that was all that even mattered.

Jean had left his bag and books on his desk and taken a quick shower, changing into a pair of dark jeans and a pale green t-shirt that was maybe just a touch snug on him. Nothing obscene, like some form-fitting-three-sizes-too-small-saran-wrap-imitating cotton; just a bit tight around his shoulders and chest. Beer may have not been the only thing that mattered with the party. It was partly a welcoming for the new freshman – though really, everyone knew it was just an excuse to party and get drunk, laid, stoned, you name it – and he was a freshman and a certain girl with really silky and soft looking ink black hair was a freshman and if they so happened to run into each other what could it hurt to look a bit different?

“I’m home,” Jean heard Marco call, his voice accompanied by the opening and closing of the front door.

“Bathroom,” Jean returned, knowing Marco would call out for him upon not seeing the brunet. He finished up and washed his hands, leaving the shared bathroom to see Marco placing a brown paper bag on the coffee table.

“What’cha got there?” Jean asked.

“Cookies,” Marco replied. His eyes fell on Jean’s clothes, focusing on the upper half and Jean looked down at himself, frowning at the dark splotches near the neckline that were taking forever to dry up.

“I showered,” he shrugged. “Where’d you get them?” He walked over and took the cookie that Marco pulled out of the bag and held out for him, biting off a piece. It was chocolate chip, soft with melt-in-your-mouth dots of milk chocolate.

“Krista. She said she made too much yesterday and gave me these after class.”

“They’re good,” Jean said, finishing off his cookie and dusting the crumbs off his chest. “When do you want to head down for the party?”

Marco titled his head to the side, lips pursed in thought and his hair falling onto his face, just over his eyes. Jean stuffed his hands in his pockets just because. “We can start walking down at seven? I don’t want to get there early and Krista told me she and Ymir would be arriving at around half past. Sasha and Connie are going to be there a bit earlier, I think.”

Jean nodded, “Okay, cool. So we got some time to kill. I’m gonna drop by the pharmacy to pick up some painkillers.”

Marco immediately reacted, “What’s wrong? If you hurt or sick we can—should stay in. Are you sick?”

Jean couldn’t help but laugh, “No, no, I’m fine, man. I noticed we don’t have anything and tomorrow morning is going to be a bitch to deal with without some Tylenol or something.” Jean knew very well how much a morning hungover could be without some meds nearby to accompany a steaming mug of coffee. Back home, you could legally buy and drink wine and beer at sixteen, hard liquor at eighteen, as opposed to Trost where the drinking age was twenty-one. Beer was not uncommon in the hands of high schoolers after school and during parties in his hometown.

“Oh,” Marco flushed. “Sorry. I, uh, sorry.”

Jean grinned and clapped Marco’s shoulder, “Don’t worry about it. Anyway, I’ll be back soon. Want me to get anything while I’m out? We’re running low on some stuff right?”

Marco shook his head, returning Jean’s smile, “Yeah, we are, but I was going to stock up before work tomorrow so don’t worry about it.”

“Right,” Jean rolled his eyes. “You are so going to deny saying that when you’re groaning in bed with a hangover from hell.”

Marco’s lips quirked, “Who said I was going to drink excessively?”

“It’s a college party!” Jean threw his hands over his head. “Getting smashed to bits is part of the rite of passage.”

Still smiling sweetly, Marco shook his head in amusement, “Go get the meds, Jean, and let me know where you put them so I can grab them when you’re a moaning mess in the morning.”

“I will not be the only moaning mess in the morning,” Jean insisted and would deny all accusations that he was pouting as Marco ushered him out of the apartment. Marco’s words would have riled Jean up, had they come from someone else. The words alone would have set his face into a scowl at being patronized, but from Marco, with his warm laugh and caring smile, the condescending tone that Jean would have otherwise heard – whether it were truly there or a figment of his imagination – was absent. He felt an odd fuzz in his chest as he walked down to the nearby – everything in Trost was nearby, honestly – pharmacy. He attributed it to the tightness of his shirt and humid air, even though the sky was clear and a cool breeze was blowing through his hair.

* * *

Jean and Marco looked at the large, mansion-like house before them. It practically vibrated, the sounds from inside leaking enough for Jean to already feel the pounding beat of whatever song was currently playing, making its way to join the thudding of his heart.

The party was already in full swing and Jean and Marco were almost thirty minutes late. Jean snuck a side glance to Marco who looked nervous, chewing his bottom lip and wringing the bottom of his shirt subconsciously. Jean’s eyes held onto Marco’s shirt. While he had gone out, Marco had showered and changed as well. Marco usually wore slightly baggy shirts, eighty percent of the time accompanied by an unbuttoned flannel overtop, and jeans or khakis. So when Jean came home to a black and blue casual button down and fitted jeans, he was a bit surprised. Marco had blushed at Jean’s open staring and muttered something about not hurting to put a little effort into appearances just in case.

Jean was very well aware of his reasons for dressing up a bit and could only wonder what girl Marco had his eyes on and was hoping to impress. With a final glance at Marco’s shoulders, wrapped up nicely by his shirt, Jean thought the taller boy wouldn’t have too much trouble, even if he hadn’t decided on a wardrobe change for the night.

“Sasha and Connie are already here, right?” Jean asked as they walked up the steps. The house was tall, two floors with windows that looked as tall as Jean and twice as wide. Pillars – Corinthian, Jean vaguely recalled from Greco-Roman history in middle school – were stationed a few meters apart at the top of the steps, holding up a triangular awning above the porch. A banner hung from the frame, three Greek letters stitched in a bold and angular white font. The second and third letters looked like an ‘X’ and ‘K’, but Jean didn’t know what they were in Greek, and the first letter looked like an ‘I’ on top of an oval and he couldn’t even begin to guess what that one was.

“Yeah,” Marco nodded, wincing as the doors opened and they received the full blast of the party.

The house was packed, colored lights flashing over dancing bodies. There was even a fog machine set up somewhere. The music was loud, some wordless dubstep mix, and Marco looked terrified, standing stiff and right next to Jean.

Jean chuckled and pulled Marco along by his wrist through the house and towards a quieter area which ended up being the kitchen. The normal lights were on to show the snacks and drinks set up on the counters, though the former was in danger of disappearing completely.

“Hey, Connie, Sasha,” Jean raised a hand in a lazy wave at the brunette and bald headed duo. The two had become fast friends, Jean had noticed. Between one class and the next that he shared with the two, it was like they’d known each other since birth.

“Jean, Marco!” Sasha exclaimed through a mouthful of chips. Connie handed her a glass of what looked like water when she started choking on half chewed chips. “Thank you,” she told the short boy once she could breathe.

Connie grinned lopsidedly and shrugged one shoulder before nodding to Marco and Jean, “Hey, guys, first week’s done!”

“Just another fifteen for the semester, and then seven more semesters,” Jean droned, making Connie and Sasha groan aloud, shooting Jean dirty looks.

“Why you gotta be like that, Jean?” Connie whined, whole body slumping down so he was even shorter.

“Because I’m a dick,” Jean replied easily, going to the fridge that was constantly being opened and closed by various people popping into the kitchen. He fished out two cans of beer, leaving the door open for the person behind him, and headed back to the trio waiting.

Marco stared at the cold can Jean held out for him in one hand while he popped the tab of his own in the other.

“I know you said you weren’t going to get smashed, but you’re not drinking at all?” Jean asked, sipping his drink. The brand was different than he was used to but he wasn’t all that picky about beer. Wine, though, was another matter entirely, thanks to his mother.

Marco took the offered beer and scratched the back of his neck, a flush slowly creeping up his shirt collar, “Uh, one or two maybe. Thanks.”

Jean understood Marco’s hesitance when the boy opened the can and took a healthy sip. His whole face scrunched up in distaste as he struggled to swallow, and when the liquid went down his throat, he stuck his tongue out, making a noise of disgust, “Oh my god, that’s gross!”

Connie and Sasha laughed openly while Jean bit his lip to stay at a stifled grin, taking the can away from Marco who quickly went to grab a brand new bottle of water. He ripped off the plastic seal and took a few gulps, still grimacing at the after taste.

“If you’ve never had beer before you could have said,” Jean commented, unable to hold back a bit of laughter.

Marco pouted, face pink, and stared at his bottled water, “I have had it before. My dad let me try some and I ended up spraying it right back out on the new farm hand.”

Connie was still laughing as he gave Marco a somewhat sympathetic pat on the shoulder, “Just takes some getting used to.”

Marco visibly shuddered, “No thank you. That stuff is just foul. I’ll never understand and I don’t even want to.”

The three shrugged and Connie took Marco’s abandoned beer from Jean. They hung around in the kitchen for a little while before Sasha was dragging Connie out to the main area to dance. Jean and Marco followed, watching their two friends jump around. Neither were very coordinated so it was an amusing sight.

Jean leaned against a wall with Marco beside him, eyes scanning the area. He saw a few people from his classes and many he didn’t recognize at all, but the one person he was looking for was nowhere to be seen. He hadn’t even realized he had sighed when Marco nudged him gently, “What’s wrong?”

It was a bit hard to hear the taller boy but Jean managed to read his mouth well enough. “I can’t see Mikasa,” Jean shrugged. “I was hoping she’d be here.”

Marco said something in response but Jean didn’t manage to hear the first time and he couldn’t read lips very well. The second time, Marco spoke a bit louder, “I said, you must really like her.”

“She’s just gorgeous, dude,” Jean replied, imagining the girl. “And she’s smart as hell as well as athletic.” Because of where they sat in their Writing 101 class, the only class Jean had with Mikasa, he had overheard bits of her and Armin’s conversations. He had learned that she knew several types of martial arts, having won competitively in a few of them as well, and that she had received an academic scholarship that the university awarded to only five people. She was just _perfect_. “The only downside is that she’s related to bloody _Jaeger_.”

Marco simply nodded, neither agreeing nor disagreeing with what Jean was saying. “Well, they’re not blood related?”

Jean turned his head to Marco, frowning questioningly.

Marco scratched the back of his head, near his ear, “Uh, well, Mikasa was adopted by Eren’s family when they were really young which is why she looks nothing like Eren. Armin and Mikasa are in my required freshman seminar and they’ve taken to sitting with Sasha and I,” he added by way of explanation.

Jean blinked, “Shit. Really?” It wasn’t hard to believe and should have been the first thing to assume when he met her, but Jean liked to think that it was a tiring week so his brain was fried. And just the thought of the raven haired girl made thinking clearly difficult. But one thing was clear in his mind. “Dude, could you put in a good word for me?”

Marco’s brow furrowed in confusion, “What?”

Jean grinned. This was great. “Put in a good word for me with Mikasa. Just, you know, make me sound cool and see if she’d say yes if I asked her out and stuff.”

An unreadable expression crossed Marco’s features before he smiled, nodding, “Y-yeah. Sure. No problem.”

Jean was about to ask what was wrong, because that was not a normal Marco smile. Jean knew his Marco smiles and that was not one of them, but a certain loud and assertive woman grabbed him around his neck.

“Ack, Ymir, what?” Jean gasped as his throat was crushed by Ymir’s arm. Even though she was a few centimeters shorter than him, Jean was struggling to get out of her one-armed, choke-hug.

“Hey, boys,” Ymir grinned, pulling Jean further into her side. “Happy first week.”

“Ymir, you’re choking him.” Jean thanked everything above for Krista. Ymir’s arm around his neck was gone in an instant, wrapped around the tiny blonde instead. With much less strength, he noted bitterly, rubbing at his throat.

“He can take it,” Ymir told her girlfriend, sending a smirk to Jean. “Right, Kirstein?”

“Yeah, sure, right” Jean replied grumpily, finishing off his beer to soothe his throat.

“How were the cookies?” Krista asked Marco, still under Ymir’s arm. The two really looked like opposites. Where Ymir was in dark, tight, and slightly revealing clothes that added to her confident demeanor, Krista was dressed in light and loose, comfortable clothes that emphasized that angelic, innocent look she had.

“They were great,” the boy responded, smiling again, this time honestly. Jean frowned, annoyed. He needed another beer.

Krista beamed, “Really? I was trying out a new recipe. I’m planning on making some for a bake sale at the rec center.”

“Oh, the one to raise funds for building schools?”

If possible, Krista’s grin widened, eyes shining, “Yes, I don’t know what to bake so I’ve been trying a few things.”

“Flour has been absolutely everywhere,” Ymir added, but she didn’t look annoyed in the least. She just gently ruffled Krista’s hair affectionately. Jean just couldn’t get over how weird it looked for someone as scary and intimidating as Ymir to be reduced into a smitten puddle. Then again, he eyed Krista as she and Marco talked about the bake sale and recipes – even though Marco wasn’t a baker and barely knew anything about baking but it was still cu—interesting – you probably couldn’t help it where Krista was concerned.

Marco was just agreeing to submit him and Jean as taste testers for the upcoming week when Ymir had somehow snuck up behind Jean, arm once again snagged around his neck while she dragged him away.

“Hey—what—! Ymir,” Jean spluttered. “I can’t—fucking— _breathe_!”

“Oh hush,” she told him, making her way through the house. They walked by one of the speakers and Jean feared his eardrums had exploded when hearing joined breathing in terms of level of difficulty for a few minutes. Ymir dragged him through various areas of the house and for a moment, he forgot to continue his vain efforts at escape when he saw Annie getting it on with Reiner _and_ a really tall guy with black hair against a wall. She was sandwiched between the two and Jean had the briefest thought pass through his head that Marco wouldn’t believe it. But then Ymir’s arm shifted and blocked off Jean’s windpipe completely so he renewed his attempts at escape.

Finally, Ymir was where she wanted and Jean took a few precious moments to try and get his lungs back in order.

“Jesus Christ, what the hell, Ymir?” Jean scowled.

Ymir just handed him a table tennis ball with a stern, “You better be good.”

And that was how Jean was roped into several games of beer pong, getting steadily drunker by each round, especially when the beer turned into vodka in the later ones. Ymir was demonic and showed no mercy to their opponents, or Jean, her own teammate. Apparently there was a tournament and somehow, Jean and Ymir placed second even though Jean was seeing double and could barely hold the ball half the time.

He was flushed and dazed as Ymir lifted him right off the ground in a victorious, drunken hug that nearly had them toppling over onto the floor. He was barely back on his feet, Ymir having left him to go to Krista, when he found himself being guided to a couch.

“I’ll get you some water,” Jean recognized Marco’s voice. A large, warm hand was a gentle and firm presence against his back.

“But I want beer,” the only slightly shorter boy whined, slumping into the couch. It was hard and leathery but Jean didn’t have the strength or control of his limbs to get up.

Marco chuckled, “You really won’t be saying that tomorrow morning. Sit tight, I’ll be right back.”

Jean didn’t want Marco to go, but he was quickly distracted when he caught a flash of a red scarf that he had quickly come to associate with a certain girl since she always had it around her neck, no matter what. This was his chance!

Jean stumbled to his feet and walked over and past several people until he was within hearing range, “Mikasa!”

Mikasa turned at the sound of her name and simple blinked at Jean as he came up to her, “Jean. Hello.”

“Hey,” Jean grinned drunkenly. He could barely stand straight but didn’t noticed. “You, uh, hey. You look great. Like always.” The words just tumbled out of his mouth but he was far too out of it to feel embarrassed, or realize that Mikasa wasn’t alone. It really showed how far gone he was since it was unbelievable that he’d completely disregarded the boy Mikasa was holding up who was as drunk, if not more, than Jean.

Jean wasn’t sure how it happened but he was on the floor, the side of his face aching something awful and Eren was on top of him throwing a wild punch and hollering something about hands and sisters and saying things behind his back.

Jean wasn’t about to just lie there and let annoying Eren Jaeger beat him up. He managed to get enough control of his arm to clench his hand into a fist and swing up into Eren’s face. The strength behind the punch was limited due to his inebriated state, but Eren’s lack of sobriety impended his ability to take the punch and he was thrown off of Jean. The two rolled around on the floor, punching, snarling, and trying a few cheap moves to get the upper hand. Around them, cheering sounded, people picking sides or just cheering on the general fight.

Eventually, Jean and Eren were pulled away from one another. Mikasa and Armin had a hold of Eren and Jean recognized Marco’s arms wrapping around his waist and chest, his voice close to Jean’s ear telling him to calm down amid various other curses with no specific target.

Jean only stopped struggling when a particular, low whined, “Please, Jean,” flowed to his brain and Marco’s hand brushed against a tender spot Eren had managed to strike.

Three more people joined the now halted fight, Bertolt, Annie, and the tall guy that completed the sandwich from earlier. Jean noted in the back of his mind that Annie’s hair was not in the previously tied back style and instead disheveled and Reiner had a hair tie around his wrist.

“Okay, fights over. Everyone break it up,” Reiner announced before telling the other guy to check on Jean. He did so while Annie when to Eren, Mikasa, and Armin. She looked calmly pissed and Jean was glad Reiner hadn’t sent her to scold him.

“I’m taking him home, Bertolt, sorry about all this,” Marco told the tall guy who helped shoulder half of Jean’s weight on the way out.

“Don’t worry about it, Marco,” Bertolt said. His voice was quiet, barely heard over the still playing music. “Will he be okay?”

“He can hear and speak for himself,” Jean muttered, sagging back into Marco. He was warm and his broad shoulders were really comfy, like human-sized baseball glove.

“He’s just had too much to drink. Ymir dragged him into that beer pong turned vodka pong tournament,” Marco replied with a gentle chuckle. He shifted Jean in his arms so that he was supporting the drunk teen from the side, arm firm around his waist and Jean’s head more or less rested on Marco’s shoulder. The baseball glove feeling intensified. As did his developing bruises.

“Urggg,” Jean groaned, tilting his head back on Marco’s shoulder.

Marco used a hand to brush Jean’s hair back from his forehead, “Okay, we’re going. I’ll call a cab for us. Bye, Bertolt, see you Monday.”

Bertolt nodded, “Bye. Good luck with him.”

Jean stuck his tongue out as Marco got them outside. The cool night air was heavenly on his heated skin and Jean fell onto Marco when the sober boy maneuvered them to sit on the curb to wait for the taxi.

“How bad do you hurt?” Marco asked him. Jean wasn’t quite supported and nearly fell right on over across Marco’s lap, but Marco caught him and wrapped an arm around Jean’s waist to hold him propped against his side.

“Nuh too bad,” Jean replied, tongue heavy in his mouth. His lids weighed just as much but he forced them open. Fuzzy headed, Jean stared at Marco’s arms around him. They didn’t look like much, just, well, arms. But he was like sixty-five kilos of mostly dead weight and Marco didn’t seem to have much trouble at all with pretty much carrying him right out of the frat house. Marco’s shirt clung to his skin with every movement and Jean watched the muscles under the fabric shift. Marco was pretty strong.

“Is that the alcohol talking?” Marco chuckled.

Jean shrugged and they sat in silence until the taxi came by. Marco put Jean in the car before getting in on the other side and Jean pretty much lost connection with the world until his head bounced against the door frame to his room and Marco cursed before showering a very dazed Jean with numerous apologies.

“S’okay, ‘m fine,” Jean mumbled. He was sobering up a bit but not by much. He regained the ability to move his hands where he wanted them to, more or less, though.

“Are you okay? I’m so sorry,” Marco said as he got Jean onto his bed.

“You dragged me all the way back, s’fine, man,” Jean assured him, flopping onto his back. His legs were dangling off the edge of the bed but he was too sleepy and drunk to do anything about it.

He heard Marco laugh quietly, “I’m guessing you don’t plan on changing.”

“Mnnn,” Jean said by way of response. His eyes were closed and he was halfway to unconsciousness by then. He barely heard Marco say something about ice. It was only when he felt movement by his feet, a warm hand holding one of his calves as a foot became shoeless that he was pulled back to the land of living.

Struggling to sit upright, Jean didn’t know what to make of the way his chest pounded and his stomach clenched at the sight of Marco on his knees, setting Jean’s shoes to the side. It was probably the alcohol in his system.

“Sorry for waking you,” Marco said, letting go of Jean’s leg, much to Jean’s subconscious displeasure, and rising up. He picked up a cold pack of peas and a hand towel with him, wrapping the towel around the bag with a sheepish smile, “We should probably have an ice pack or something if brawling is a norm for you when you’re drunk.”

“It was only cuz of Jaeger,” Jean muttered, hissing when Marco pressed the makeshift icepack to the bruising on his face. He was beginning to feel his injuries and was aware enough to know that the next morning was going to godawful for him. He glared grumpily at Marco who was completely sober and bruise free.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Marco scolded lightly, playfully. “I’m not the one who got completely hammered and picked a fight with another drunken person who had some muscle on him.”

“He started it,” Jean whined, pouting without realizing.

Marco looked away from his face. “Here, you can hold this, yeah,” he said, grabbing Jean’s hand to make the drunk teenager hold the towel-wrapped peas on his own.

Jean’s eyes narrowed, a thought suddenly coming to his mind, “You think he’s got more muscle than me.”

Marco’s brow furrowed, bemused, “Not sure where you got that idea, Jean. You should get some sleep after you ice that down a bit more.”

“Yer avoiding. No ways is Jaeger stronger than me!” Jean exclaimed. He let go of the peas and snatched Marco’s wrist. It was sheer surprise and nothing else that allowed Jean to pull Marco towards him. Jean lacked coordination and fell onto his back, Marco following physics and landing onto of Jean’s chest with an _oof_ that made both of them wince.

“Jean, Jesus,” Marco groaned. Jean wouldn’t let go of his wrist but his grip was weak and Marco easily got out of it, managing to raise himself on a hand and knee.

Jean only grinned triumphantly (and a little more than just slightly drunkenly), “See! I so pulled you over.”

Marco rolled his eyes fondly, “Of course you did, Jean. Now—” Marco cut himself off when he looked up and his face flushed a thousand shades of pink and red.

Jean stared back, unblinking. Marco’s face was so close. His attention span was non-existent and he forgot what he and Marco had been talking about or doing before. All he could focus on was how closer Marco’s face was. It was right there. All freckled and red. Eyes large and brown. Lips parted and pink.

He barely registered Marco’s Adam’s apple bobbing as the boy on top swallowed. Jean’s focus was on how Marco’s lips were lightly slicked with saliva from his tongue peeking out and swiping over.

“J…Jean?” Marco whispered, voice shaky.

Jean made a noncommittal sound, barely hearing Marco’s words. He tilted his head and began to lean up.

Marco was standing a foot away from the bed so fast, Jean swore the boy had teleportation abilities.

“Uh, you, um, sleep,” Marco stammered. “You’re really drunk and it’s pretty late.” The blushing boy had Jean’s bedroom door shut behind him before Jean could even begin to get his head on right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> c:


	8. Not Wife

“Oh my _god_.” Jean moaned, gripping his head and turning onto his side, face buried in his pillow. “Someone kill me.” He woke up with an automated jackhammer on steroids in his head and his whole body felt like it had been thrown into various blunt objects.

He eventually managed to roll over and open his eyes, scrabbling for his phone. His hands met a glass, pills, and a piece of paper that turned out to be a blue sticky note.

_Good morning (or afternoon) sleepy head,_

_You’ve probably found the water and pills so have that. I stocked up on groceries and there’s fresh milk in the fridge and I made you a breakfast sandwich which is on the island. If you don’t want that there’s also some Cinnamon Toast if you’re not up to making your own breakfast/lunch. There’s a pot of coffee ready but you might have to warm it up._

_I put the peas back in the freezer and bought a proper ice pack. Ice down your bruises but don’t move around too much if it hurts. Text me when you see this and if you need anything, my shift ends at 1 and I’ll be home by half past._

_\- Marco (:_

_PS: Drink plenty of water!!_

Jean read the note, having to flip it over to read the overflow on the back, a few times before he finally managed to understand what the letters came together to mean. He gulped down the pills and water and then sent Marco a quick text to thank him for being the best roommate in existence and tell him that he was awake before going to the bathroom and trying to make himself feel less dead.

Jean grimaced at his reflection. The side of his jaw was mottled purple-blue, eyes bloodshot, and hair unmentionable. Pulling off his shirt from last night, he poked at the bruising on his ribs. It wasn’t as bad as his face, but it still looked gross and hurt.

After cleaning up, emptying his stomach, cleaning up again, and changing into loose pyjama pants and an old t-shirt, Jean went into the kitchen to refill his glass with water and saw the sandwich Marco had mentioned underneath a microwavable food cover. Jean poured himself some coffee, cringing when he tasted the lukewarm drink before stuffing it in the microwave until it was near scalding. He ate the cooled sandwich and finished off his coffee as well as some more water, remembering Marco’s note and his insistence in the form of two exclamation marks. He had woken up at around half past noon and by the time he had put his dirty dishes in the sink and found the ice pack, holding it against his face, it was quarter past one with Marco soon to arrive.

Jean slumped on the couch, waiting for the meds to kick in. His head ached and he still felt like crap but he did feel considerably better than when he had woken up. But for the life of him, he couldn’t remember the previous night. He had flashes of Ymir and Krista, Sasha and Connie, Marco, ping pong, and drinking. Lots of drinking. He vaguely remembered a fight, which would explain his injuries, but otherwise drew a complete blank. He didn’t even remember getting home.

He was dozing before he knew it and was woken up when he heard keys jingling and the front door opening and closing.

“Welcome back,” Jean called out in a lethargic slur that broke into a loud yawn.

“Hey, sleepyhead,” Marco grinned when he came into view, backpack hanging off one shoulder and a plastic bag held in the other hand. “How you holding up?”

Jean shrugged, “Sore but not too bad. Thanks, by the way. I’m guessing you dragged my sorry ass home last night?”

Marco set his bags on the coffee table, “Uh, half-ish. Do you not remember last night?”

“I barely remember anything, man.” Jean picked up the fallen ice pack and ghosted a finger over the bruising on his face. “Did I get in a fight?”

Marco’s expression flickered between a few emotions – disappointment, fear, surprise, relief? – before it settled on something neutral as he answered, “Yeah. With Eren.”

“Jaeger?” Jean scrunched his nose up before he looked horrified. “Oh god, please don’t tell me he looks better than I do right now.”

Marco laughed, “I think you gave as good as got. You guys weren’t at it for long though and both of you were pretty out of it.”

“If I had been sober, I would have kicked his ass no sweat,” Jean insisted.

“Of course, Jean,” Marco nodded along. “Anyway, I saw Armin this morning at work and he told me that apparently someone started some rumor about you doing something, which is why Eren attacked you in a drunken rage. Armin wanted to pass along his apology.”

“Jaeger. Apologized. To me,” Jean deadpanned.

Marco shrugged and chuckled, sitting down on the couch beside Jean, “It _might_ have been a forced apology. Anyway, what do you want for lunch? Did you eat anything?”

“I had the sandwich and drank some water and coffee, plus the meds. I’m good with whatever for lunch if you haven’t eaten yet.”

“I brought some stuff from work if you want something to snack on. How’s pasta sound for lunch? Simple mac n’ cheese?”

“Sounds good. Need help?” Jean asked, following Marco to the kitchen.

Marco shook his head, “No, you rest.” He directed Jean to the island and had him take a seat while he set the plastic bag from work on a counter. He pulled out what he’d need for their lunch as well as a glass that he filled with water and handed to Jean, telling him that he needed to keep nicely hydrated and better finish that glass as well as another one later today. Jean felt an odd, fluttery, warm blob of something gooey in his chest at being fussed over.

“You know, the girl that ends up as your wife is going to be super lucky,” Jean mused aloud, sipping the water.

Marco started, nearly tipping out the entire box of macaroni all over the stove and countertop. Jean laughed.

“Jean…” Marco hesitated. “There’s, uh, something I haven’t told you.”

Jean cocked his head to the side, “Hm? What is it?”

Marco shifted on his feet nervously, playing with the macaroni box. He fiddled with the stove before turning around, wringing his hands together. Jean waited somewhat impatiently, wondering what on earth could be so nerve-wracking for Marco.

“I’m gay,” he blurted out.

“Oh.” Jean blinked. Okay, yeah, that was something that could be rather nerve-wracking.

“Yeah.”

A horribly uncomfortable silence fell between them as Marco turned around and went back to making lunch. Jean grasped for a way to get rid of the awkwardness. He was embarrassed though. Here he had just made some stupid comment about a wife and he could only imagine other stupid comments he had thrown around previously.

“So… husband then,” he eventually said.

Marco looked over his shoulder with a puzzled frown, “What?”

“A lucky husband, not wife,” Jean explained, trying a smile.

Marco seemed to turn the words over in his head before he returned the smile with a laugh that immediately made Jean feel inexplicably relieved, “Yeah, sure. He just better like dogs because I want at least two.”

Jean liked dogs.

Jean threw that thought away.

They made idle, safer, conversation as Marco cooked but Jean had tons of questions rolling around in his head about his roommate. He remembered when Marco had acted a bit strange when they were talking about Reiner and Bertolt – which reminded him of the brief scene he had caught sight of before his memory of the previous night took a sharp dive into blackness – and realized that had been more than just Marco feeling out Jean’s feelings about some random people’s sexuality. Did Jean come across as homophobic? How did Marco think Jean would have reacted? Why hadn’t Marco told him earlier?

Marco spooned the cheesy pasta into two bowls and handed Jean his serving with a fork before sitting down beside him and beginning to eat. Jean couldn’t keep quiet any longer.

“Uh, so, are you out?” Jean asked, poking at his food and watching the cheese stick to the prongs of his fork.

“Yeah, but I don’t go around announcing it. If someone asks, I’ll answer.”

“Oh.” Jean chewed on a bite, sneaking glances at Marco who was eating normally. “When did you come out?”

Marco sucked on his fork as his brow scrunched up in thought. Jean looked back down at his food with extra interest.

“Um, I came out to my dad when I was fifteen, my mom a little later when I went to visit her and her family, my friends not too long after my parents, and I guess everyone else in my junior year when a senior asked me to prom.”

Jean wanted to ask about the senior but he also didn’t. The idea gave his lunch a bad aftertaste.

“So, people at uni know?”

Marco nodded, “Some do; Trost is a small town so word gets around quick and I got to know some upperclassmen during the summer camps and stuff I went to during high school. Of the new people, Armin does and I’m pretty sure Ymir and Krista do as well. Armin kinda picked up on it though and then asked me.” A light pink flush came over Marco’s complexion. “The guy’s really observant.”

Jean wasn’t sure what the blush or comment meant, but he sure as hell didn’t like how his stomach turned thinking about it. It was probably the hangover.

“Oh cool.” Jean went back to his food, but his appetite wasn’t quite there. Probably still the hangover.

Marco noticed. “Hey, sure you’re alright?”

“Hm, yeah, fine. Probably just need more sleep or something.”

Marco raised a brow, “You’ve slept for like 12 hours, Jean.”

“I’m hungover, give me a bre _ak_ ,” Jean whined, his lips pursing into a pout without his permission. Marco quickly looked away, scratching his reddened cheek.

“How about I give you some more coffee instead?”

“My hero,” Jean grinned as Marco got up and poured two mugs of coffee, emptying the pot, and stuffing them into the microwave. “Yeah, your future husband is going to be one lucky guy.”

“Shut up,” Marco blushed, shoving Jean’s shoulder.

“I’m calling it as I see it, man.” Jean ignored the twist in his gut at how easy it was to imagine Marco with his two dogs, a kid or two, and some tall, faceless, loving husband. Stupid hangovers.


	9. Not Going to Deal With

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jean's mentally scarred for life and I enjoyed myself far too much writing that scene.

A month into their first year, and Jean was already holed up in the library every free second because of a paper for his law class that was basically sucking the life out of him, plus a research project for his freshman seminar and various tests and quizzes in other classes. He wasn’t the only one being crushed by tests and papers, though, which was of some consolation.

Connie groaned aloud and slammed his head into the table and the textbook he was going through. Jean was slightly worried that the librarian was going to kick them out from the scathing looks she kept throwing their table. Connie and Sasha were incapable of being quiet and Jean didn’t really help when he’d tell them to shut up.

“I’m _hungry_ ,” Sasha complained, following Connie’s lead and sprawling forward on the table. Jean rolled his eyes at them even though he was also just a hair’s breadth away from pulling at his own hair.

“You’re always hungry,” Jean muttered.

“We could all go and grab lunch or something,” Marco suggested. “We’ve been here for almost four hours.”

“Yes please, Marco, you angel,” Sasha beamed, all evidence of fatigue wiped away at the prospect of food. Connie mumbled something relating to his own agreement against the table.

“Krista, Ymir?” Marco asked the last two of their group. Ymir had really only come to give Krista company and help here and there, while gloating over the others even though she was only a year above them.

“I’m all for it. I’m fucking starved,” Ymir agreed, Krista nodding as well.

“If I have to look at one more article on capitalism versus communism or socialism, I’m going to cry,” the shorter girl complained, pushing her laptop away from her.

They had all come together in some form of a study group, but there wasn’t a lot each person could do for another in terms of peer help. Their current little group was rather diverse in that no two of them were studying in the same field. The closest were Sasha and Krista, Sasha minoring in economics on top of her journalism major and Krista majoring in political science with a history minor. And while Jean hated to admit it, Eren was actually really helpful when the study group was in full form, as well as when Jean needed someone from class for notes or another viewpoint. The only reason he tempered his annoyance with the other male was that Mikasa and Armin came with the package. Armin was okay and Mikasa was, well, _Mikasa_. And with Krista and Marco being their super friendly selves that no one could think to dislike, the trio had quickly joined in their friend group. Though Eren and Jean did butt heads more often than not so study sessions with both Jean and Eren tended to be avoided unless absolutely necessary.

“Let’s get some food then. Caf or outside?” Marco asked. No one really had the energy to leave campus, so they decided on going to the cafeteria.

“Ah, I’ll see you guys there,” Jean stated as they left the library, walking down a hall that went past the law/business courses wing. “I wanna grab a textbook from Prof A’s room.”

Sasha, Connie, and Ymir barely paid him any attention and nodded, continuing off to fill their stomachs. Krista told him they’d see him in a bit then, but Marco walked alongside him, shrugging and saying he’d provide a little company.

“How you getting along on that essay?” Jean asked. It was Sunday so the halls were empty. The library, cafeteria, and rec center were the only places really frequented during the weekend. Some professors came by for a few hours for study groups or student appointments. Professor Ackerman had special weekend office hours where his room was unlocked since he had a private collection of textbooks, papers, and journals that students could sign out and return within two weeks. His materials were some of the best kept since everyone feared for their lives if they damaged even the corner of a single page.

“About as well as everyone else is doing on their assignments,” Marco replied. “I’m already dying for fall break.”

“Fuck, yes, I know. Just another month to go. But Halloween’s coming up, pretty sure Bertolt’s frat is going to be hosting another party.”

Marco shot him a side glance, “You sure you want to go to another frat party after what happened last time?”

“That was weeks ago,” Jean waved his hand flippantly. “And I don’t even remember what happened.”

Marco shook his head, laughing lightly, “And that’s not deterring you in the least?”

Jean shrugged. They turned the corner and were approaching the room, but he could hear odd noises. Panting. A muffled shout?

The two shared confused looks, inching towards the sound and ending up right in front of Professor Ackerman’s room.

“What the hell?” Jean muttered, carefully pulling the partially opened door a little more open so he and Marco could peek inside.

“….mmm, _heichou_.”

Jean was too stunned to make a noise. Marco covered his mouth with his hand.

There were many things going on through Jean’s mind, but one thing was definitely clearer than others. Professor Ackerman was in his room. And so was Eren Jaeger. Who was the one trying to stifle his moans as he was sitting down with the tiny, terrifying professor on his lap going up and down and up and down at a very slow pace that Jean could sympathize with if he didn’t just have the looping image of _Professor Ackerman riding Eren Jaeger while Jaeger was tied to the chair and looking literally fucked out of his mind._

Jean grabbed Marco by the arm and backed away from the room before quickly speed walking away from the area.

When they were outside the building, Jean pressed the heels of his palms against his eyes and dragged his hands down his face as he groaned loudly, “Oh my god, I need—I don’t know—fucking mind bleach or something.”

“Sorry, I’m all out,” Marco replied. His face was flushed and he seemed to still be trying to process what he had also witnessed.

“What the hell does _heichou_ even mean,” Jean wondered before cringing. “Actually, I probably don’t want to know. Oh my _god_ , that will never leave my mind. What the hell?!”

Jean looked to Marco, seeing the other boy resolutely looking away, cheeks ruddy, and scratching the back of his neck. Jean’s mouth dropped.

“You…you didn’t find that horrifying,” he accused, bewildered.

“..er, well, it was kinda…hot…” Marco trailed, face on fire. When Jean just continued to stare at him in disbelief, Marco defended, “I mean, just, like, you know…What if they weren’t Eren and the professor? Or one of them were a girl? Shut up!”

Marco turned his back to Jean and stormed down the hall, the back of his neck and ears a vibrant shade of dark red. Jean took a moment to get his head sorted before he was chasing after his roommate. Even when he caught up, Marco refused to look at him, still flushed. Jean would have thought the taller boy was mad at him – a thought that made his stomach turn and heart sink with inexplicable guilt – but Marco nibbled his bottom lip and his avoidance was the complete opposite of frosty. Rather, the ignoring was more akin to a child sulking out of embarrassment, pretending that the source of their mortification was nonexistent, thereby making their embarrassment nonexistent, in theory. It was so adorable, Jean couldn’t even begin to pretend he didn’t think it as such.

But Jean didn’t press and the two soon joined up with their friends, plus a few people from their classes that Jean vaguely recognized but had never spoken to. He and Marco grabbed food and slipped in easily, although separated due to the lack of free seats to choose from. Jean ended up next to Connie on one end and Marco next to someone he apparently knew from a class in the middle on the other side of the table.

As Jean pushed his food around his plate, only half listening and idly contributing to conversation, his eyes drifted to Marco as his mind drifted without his permission to the mentally scarring scene the two had just witnessed and Marco’s stuttered defense in finding the horrifying visual _hot_.

When Jean missed his mouth and ended up with pizza sauce and cheese up his nose, he focused on eating after cussing out everyone who laughed at him.

* * *

 

Jean lay in bed, scrolling mindlessly through a PDF version of one of his textbooks he found online for free. There was going to be some test or quiz or whatever for his seminar class on the reading which was some twenty odd pages of mind-numbingly boring text. Unfortunately, it wasn’t boring enough to help him fall asleep.

Plugging his phone into the charger and setting it to the side, Jean stretched out on his bed and stared at the darkness above. It was almost two and he was tired but not sleepy. It was beyond frustrating. He had gone to grab a glass of water and envied Marco who had seemed to pass out as soon as his head touched his pillow, light snores and sleep-mumbles taunting Jean.

Rubbing his face, Jean tried to recap the day, which turned out to be a horrible idea because he skipped right to seeing Eren and Professor Ackerman going at it. The image was scorched, _branded_ , to the inside of his eyelids. Every time he saw it, more details became apparent. Like the fact that Eren had his hands tied behind his back, to the chair, with a tie and that the professor was definitely the one in complete control even though he was taking it up the ass.

He was so tiny—nope. Jean refused to think about it. He turned his mind to safer thoughts. Marco. Jean still didn’t understand how Marco could have found what they unwittingly witnessed to be anything other than horrifying, mentally scarring, terrifying, etc. He had been _turned on_. Was it a gay thing?

No. Jean could admit that if the two people they had seen weren’t his terrifying professor and archnemesis, he probably wouldn’t have minded. It was basically live porn. Even ticked off the student-teacher taboo.

If Professor Ackerman were some girl though and Jean the student…

His hand snaked down to the waistband of his pajama pants, slipping under cotton and elastic to build up and guide blood south. Jerking off made him sleepy and what better way to relieve some stress? Besides, he hadn’t had a little ‘alone’ time for a while and he wasn’t a loud person so it wasn’t like he’d wake up Marco or anything.

Satisfied with his justifications, he closed his eyes and pictured the scene again, but with changes. Instead of the obnoxiously annoying Eren, it was himself. Instead of the frighteningly intimidating Professor Ackerman, it was a girl with pale skin and silky, medium length black hair, rose red lips parted as she sank down on Jean.

This was much better. Marco did have a point, although he was still weird as fuck for finding the original participants attractive in the least bit.

But then his imagination took a turn, mind half thinking about Marco having his own similar fantasies. The girl in Jean’s lap turned taller, broader. Hair shrank, freckles blossomed, muscles grew defined. It looked odd in his mind, such a strong, sturdier person on top of someone considerably lean. His mind decided to correct it and Jean had no control over what happened. This time, _he_ was the professor, sprawled atop the student. Rising and falling upon powerful thighs with lower halves hidden behind the professor’s—Jean’s—desk, firm hands gripping his hips, skin tones contrasting sharply, to aid his movements.

The idea of that strength had Jean unknowingly picking up his pace, reckless and sloppy. The image in his head faded as he jerked, breath hitching, and stiffened, his strokes turning lazy as he rode down from his release, body relaxed and lethargic. As he sank into his bed, waiting a moment to get his bearings before cleaning up, his mind drifted, and drifted, and drifted…right back to his little fantasy.

“Oh my god,” Jean whispered aloud in horror. Realization crashed down upon him like a high-rise during a 10.0 earthquake, post-orgasm high squished like a bug under a ten ton weight.

There had to be a logical reason as to why he _jerked off_ to his _**male** roommate_. The specifics of their positioning was something he was not going to deal with just yet, if ever.


	10. Not How Things Were Supposed to Turn Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one where the fucking up happens, if the chapter title wasn't clear enough.

Jean didn’t sleep for the rest of the night. He tossed and turned in bed, paced back and forth across his room, got several cups of water from the kitchen, yet did not get a blink of sleep. Before he knew it, the sun was rising which meant Marco was waking for his daily run. Jean hid under his covers, closing his eyes and trying to feign sleep even though the chances of Marco coming to check on him were slim to none because why would Marco even do so?

Either way, Jean lay still, to the point he was practically holding his breath, and was entirely aware of every sound Marco made as he moved around. Doors opening and closing. Water running in the sink. The squeaky cabinet door that they really needed to oil eventually. General shuffling of life around the apartment until the front door shut and stiff silence reigned.

Jean stayed under his covers for a good few minutes until he finally managed to breathe again. He got out of bed, knowing it was useless to stay in any longer and went to brush his teeth and take a shower. His alarm was going to go off in an hour and a half anyway to get ready for his only class of the day.

Under the warming spray, he quickly resolved to forget the previous night had happened. It was for the best. He was just sexually frustrated and he wasn’t used to living with someone other than his mother. His body needed release and he’d been around Marco basically 24/7 so his brain latched onto the most familiar person for that…dream, fantasy… _thing_ that happened. That was a sound rationalization.

And it eased his mind for a good forty-five minutes or so until Marco came back home covered in a light sheen of sweat.

“Oh, you’re up?” the taller boy phrased the sentence with a confused lilt, making it a question.

Jean ducked his head back into the fridge where he had been rooting around for milk for the pancakes he had decided to make. A sweaty Marco in his mismatching dark blue running shorts and green tank top brought back the vague recollections of images from the previous night.

“I, uh, I kinda just woke up and couldn’t go back to sleep,” Jean fibbed. He found the milk and snatched it up, going back to the mixing bowl. He made sure to keep his back to Marco. He couldn’t bring himself to look at his roommate. Out of sight, out of mind, right?

“Mmm, pancakes? I’m starved. Need any help?” They forgot the clause about sound, though.

“No!” Jean exclaimed hurriedly before toning it down, “I mean, you should, uh, you should, like, shower. I’ve got it covered.”

He could hear Marco shuffling behind him. “Oh, right. Okay. Thanks.”

It was only when Jean heard the bathroom door shut and the shower start running that he realized he had poured too much milk in the mixing bowl, to the point it was overflowing onto the counter.

“Fuck-shit-dammit!” Jean panicked, setting the milk carton to the side and scrambling for the paper towels.

Jean had just managed to finish cleaning up his mess when Marco got out of the shower.

“What happened?” Marco asked. He only had a towel around his waist, which wasn’t out of the norm. They were two dudes who lived together and shared a bathroom. Jean himself had walked around in just a towel or a pair of boxers that had seen a few years too many. So why was his face heating up in more than just embarrassment at fucking up pancakes?

“Uh, wasn’t paying attention and spilled the milk everywhere. Pancakes are a no-go today, sorry.” Jean’s ears burned.

Marco laughed, “Hey, no worries. There’re toaster waffles in the freezer. I can get started on those while you get the coffee ready.”

“Actually, I gotta go early. Uh, I’m, uh, we’ve got a test today and I need to talk to this dude from class.” Jean didn’t know what it was, but the idea of moving about in the kitchen with Marco practically naked wasn’t good for his heart or stomach or blood pressure. He would never admit to practically running out of the kitchen after hurriedly putting things away, grabbing his bag from his room, and tripping over himself out of the door.

When he got to campus, he still had a good hour left before his class.

“Well… I do actually have that stupid test-quiz-thing. I can grab food from the caf and last minute study,” he told himself, heading in the direction of the cafeteria. Once he got there, he realized three things. He had forgotten his wallet and phone on his bedside table, his laptop was at 17%, and he was not going to survive the next four hours.

* * *

 

Jean couldn’t fool himself. He was avoiding Marco. There was no doubt about it. And he knew that he wasn’t exactly subtle about it either. It’s pretty hard to avoid your roommate without making it seem like you’re avoiding him, especially when for the past month and a half the two of you quickly became best friends.

And Jean felt awful about it. He pretended not to notice every time Marco’s face would fall for that brief second before an understanding half-smile would form when Jean would make up some excuse to eat alone or leave for hours and only show up long past night fall. He’d stay holed up in his room or the library, feigning excess coursework. At least he was keeping up with everything for the most part, but that was of only little consolation.

It had only been a week and a half and Jean was already completely drained. Avoidance was hard work and he was doing it 24 hours a day. Math was the worst since they shared the class. Jean had taken to leaving before Marco got back from his writing class and finding a seat in a far corner, then spending most of the class staring longingly at Marco who sat in their usual place with Sasha, Connie, and Eren near the front. When class let out, he’d be among the first to rush out, speeding out the door before Marco and their friends would have even finished putting their books away.

Week two of Avoidance Until He Could Get His Head on Right was half over. Jean’s boss and coworkers had noted his sullen mood over the past week and sent him home after his shift with a bag of Oreo brownies and lemon squares. The paper bag with the bakery’s logo crinkled in the wind. Mid-October and fall was already well on its way. Some of the trees were beginning to turn.

His phone ringing broke Jean from his dazed state. It was his mother, which was odd since their weekly calls were only on the weekends – although she messaged him more than a few times during the week.

“Hey, mom, what’s up?”

“ _Nothing much, Jean. How are you?_ ” she replied in French, making Jean slip into the language as well.

“Fine? Nothing’s changed since I called you on Sunday. I’m heading home from the bakery.”

“ _Are you sure? You know you can tell me anything, right?_ ”

Jean frowned, “Yeah…Mom, what’s wrong? You’ve never been good at being subtle.”

“ _Nothing! I promise. I’m just worried about you. You didn’t sound like yourself on Sunday and I was going to wait but you’re my baby and I was worried things weren’t going too well and you’re so far away now that I can’t just come over and make sure my little boy is okay—_ ”

“Oh god, mom, _breathe_. Every thing’s fine. I’m not a baby or your little boy anymore. I can take care of myself. I was just tired or something. I had a lot of stuff due at the same time.”

“ _Are you sure? And you’re always going to my little baby boy, Jean. It doesn’t matter if you’re eighteen or eight hundred._ ”

Jean sighed, although he did feel his mood lifting at his mother’s huffy tone, being her overprotective self. “I know, mom. And I’m fine, really.” He switched back into English as he entered the apartment building, heading into the elevator and pressing the button to his floor. “I gotta go now. I’ll call you on Sunday.”

“ _Okay, take care. I love you._ ”

Jean rolled his eyes but replied just as fondly, “ _Je t’aime aussi_. Bye.”

When the elevator doors slid open, Jean walked straight out, not expecting someone else to be stepping in.

“Oh shit, _désolé, mec,_ ” Jean blurted after narrowly avoiding a collision. The surprise had him forgetting to speak in English, especially since he still had French on the brain from speaking to his mother. “Er, I mean, sorry, man.”

The other boy, whom Jean had to look up to since he was taller than him and even Marco by a good few centimeters and probably about twice as broad as Jean with buff, muscular physic, just laughed, “No worries, it was half my fault too.”

Jean stepped out of the way and let the other boy into the elevator. He waved a goodbye which Jean returned before Jean headed down the hall to his door. Upon entering, he saw Marco cleaning up the coffee table of soda cans and plates of bread crumbs.

“Oh, Jean, welcome back,” Marco greeted with a quick smile. He seemed to be in a better mood tan he had been over the week since Jean started avoiding him. Most of their interactions as of late were awkward and forced. They didn’t speak to each other unless they had to anymore. Jean’s heart panged painfully. He knew it was his fault, but he didn’t know what to do about it.

“Uh, yeah, hey. Had someone over?” Jean tried to continue to the conversation, hoping to keep Marco in a good mood for a little longer. He was starved, he realized, for normalcy and Marco’s old smiles.

Marco’s smile lengthened, “Yeah, my TA from my psych class, Peyton. I needed some help with an essay and he hadn’t eaten today so I invited him over.” A pale blush rose on his cheeks which Jean momentarily questioned in his head but pushed away.

“Oh, cool. Peyton? He wouldn’t happen to be tall, blond, looks like a gym junkie, would he? Oh, and I got forced home with brownies and lemon squares, by the way. I’ll put them on the counter.”

“How’d you know? What kind of brownies?”

Jean stepped into the kitchen with Marco not far behind. He grabbed a large plate and emptied the treats onto it, setting the plate on the island, “Oreo. Ran into him getting off the elevator.”

Marco made a noise of appreciation, “Oh yum. Oreo brownies are the best kind of brownies.” Having put the dishes in the sink and thrown away the soda cans, he went over to the island, on the opposite side of Jean and picked up one of the brownies, taking a modest bite. Sighing as he chewed, he looked to Jean, a question in his eyes. “So, uh, are you gonna stay home for dinner tonight?”

The word “yeah” was out of his mouth accompanied by a nod before he could think. He quickly added, rubbing the back of his neck, “But, uh, I’ll probably be holed up in my room for the rest of the day. I have this assignment…”

Marco’s smile faded back to the former shadow Jean was unwillingly getting used to seeing. “Oh, that sucks. If you’re so busy, I can handle dinner tonight?”

Feeling even worse, Jean shook his head, “No, I can still make dinner. I was gonna start now anyway. Any requests?”

“No, anything you make is always great. Need any help?”

“Nah, I’ve got this.” Jean turned his back to Marco and set about gathering ingredients. He heard Marco sigh and leave the kitchen, but forced his mind and body to focus on cooking. It wasn’t much, but he hoped making one of Marco’s favorite dishes would somehow make things a little bit okay between them. He glad they still had some red pork in the fridge, just enough for what he was making. Knowing red pork would be needed again since it was one of Marco’s favorite meats, Jean added it to the small whiteboard they hung up on the fridge which they used to write down their grocery list as they ran out, or were beginning to run out, of stuff.

Once he gathered everything else he needed, he set to work boiling water for the noodles and rinsing the vegetables before preparing the pork. It was a simple pork and noodle dish and the stock also made for a pretty good soup after adding a few extra spices and sauces.

Jean finished up, making up Marco’s plate with the pork on top of the noodles, boiled vegetables on the side, and a bowl for the soup nestled against the noodles. He set the plate on the island, setting a mesh food cover over top. Finished with Marco’s meal, he went back to the fridge and gathered what he’d need for a quick sandwich, taking his plate with him out of the kitchen.

Marco wasn’t in the living room, but through his open bedroom door, Jean saw the other boy on his laptop in bed, headphones over his ears. Jean gently knocked on the open door, getting Marco’s attention. “Dinner’s on the counter if you’re hungry now, but you can microwave it later if you want.”

“Thanks, I’m actually starved even with those sandwiches I had with Peyton. I’ll be out in a sec.” Marco flashed a smile that Jean stiffly returned before quickly walking the short distance to his room, closing the door behind him. With a heavy sigh, he fell back against the door and stared at his sandwich. He wasn’t really all that hungry.

* * *

Saturday rolled around and Jean was grateful that Marco worked basically most of the day. But he was starting to get worried when 2:30 rolled around and Marco hadn’t come back home from work since his shift had ended an hour and a half ago. He worried for another fifteen minutes before finally picking up his phone to call him, but heard metal rattle before the front door was being opened in a rush and a frantic Marco hurried inside.

“Hey,” Jean barely got the word out of his mouth when Marco scrambled past him into his room, pulling off his shirt along the way, and then the bathroom with his towel in hand. “You’re in a rush.”

“I’m going to be late for my date,” Marco replied distractedly. “They needed extra help at the café with some deliveries and it took way longer than I thought it would” He was tugging on a button down, one of his nicer ones that Jean hadn’t seen him wear yet, over a clean white v-neck t-shirt.

Jean’s brows rose in surprise, “A date? With who?”

Marco nibbled his lip and looked down as he quickly tried to button up his shirt, “Um, Peyton.”

Blinking, Jean ignored his fallen jaw as he stared in shock as Marco’s complexion turned redder by the second. “Your psych TA Peyton?”

Marco gave a minute nod, finished buttoning his shirt and moving on to looking through his closet, “He, uh, he asked me out just before he left on Wednesday.” Marco’s phone went off, signaling a text. He paused in getting ready to check it and groaned, “I only have ten minutes until he’s coming by.”

“Text him that you’re running late and will meet him wherever it is you’re going,” Jean suggested. “If he’s not a douchebag he’ll understand when you explain.” He felt like acid had dripped down the inside of his chest into his stomach. It festered at the thought of Peyton stopping by their front door with flowers or some shit and taking Marco away for the evening.

Beaming, Marco did as suggested, thanking Jean. He received a prompt response and burst into a grin with a light blush before setting his phone down and grabbing a pair of dark blue jeans from the closet. Jean walked out of Marco’s room and went to the kitchen. He needed something to do.

Marco was ready to leave fifteen minutes later; hair arranged under a beanie in a supposedly fashionable style, clothes fitted and incredibly flattering on his frame, and a faint hint of a citrus-honey spiced cologne.

Jean’s stomach twisted viciously.

He watched from his position on the couch in the living room, sipping ash-flavored coffee, as Marco wrapped a scarf around his neck and pulled on a dark coat different to the one he usually wore; nicer, probably more expensive. Marco sighed heavily and cleared his throat before nibbling his lip and facing Jean directly, “Uh, sorry, but um, do I look okay?”

No, Jean wanted to answer. He did not look _okay_. He looked adorable and amazing and there was no way Peyton was going to be able to keep his hands to himself were he so inclined.

Shifting his eyes down to his coffee Jean shrugged around the tightness in his throat, “Yeah, you’re fine. Peyton’s a lucky guy.”

Peeking over the rim of the mug, Jean didn’t miss the way Marco’s cheeks flushed with a pleased smile.

“So, uh, you coming back tonight?” Jean was afraid to know the answer.

Bright red, Marco shook his head frantically, “No! I mean, yes. I mean, I’m—We’re just going to this small fair that’s in the park by the city library and then getting dinner. I’m coming back home _alone_.”

The pressure in his chest eased just the faintest bit. “Oh, well. Have fun then.” Jean replied as casually as he could. Before, he probably would have made some kind of teasing joke that may have been in part only done to see Marco flustered, but the idea was about as appealing as his coffee right then.

“Bye, I’ll probably be back around ten at the latest. See you.”

It took Jean about ten minutes after Marco had left before he was dressing up in nondescript black clothes and heading out of the apartment as he slipped on a pair of headphones over his ears with no music playing.

“This is such a stupid idea,” I mumbled to himself even as he Googled the fair in the park and took several shortcuts while basically running down streets to get to the park. The fair was easy to spot, having been set up right at one of the main entrances to the park. The trees, some orange and yellow and some still green, were decorated with colorful ribbons, balloons, and fairy lights that would turn on when the sun was closer to setting in a couple hours. There were stalls set up side by side along the path that joggers usually took for their runs. Most were shops but there were a few carnival games, charities, and businesses. Apparently, at the end of the path, they had set up a dance area with a DJ, so there was only one way to enter and exit the fair if you stayed on the path.

Jean leaned against a tree where he could casually keep an eye on the entrance. He had made it before Marco, somehow, who was only just arriving. He watched Marco stand by the entrance, looking around and pulling out his phone.

A few minutes later, his name was called and Peyton jogged up to Marco, rubbing the back of his neck when he came to a stop, standing so his back was to Jean leaving Marco’s face in clear view. Whatever Peyton said made Marco turn pink and roll his eyes with a shy laugh.

“You don’t make your date wait when you’re the one who asked them out in the first place,” Jean grumbled, eyes narrowed at Peyton’s back.

His eyes followed the couple as they walked into the park, standing a bit too close together than was really necessary. They were practically walking on top of one another. Jean followed, always a couple stalls behind. When they stopped to look at one, usually at Marco’s call, Jean would pretend to be interested in one of the stalls near him. Luckily, the first one happened to be a food stall, selling soft pretzels the size of Jean’s head. He bought one of the more savory options along with a large soda and continued to follow Marco and Peyton, getting more and more irate by the minute, finding faults in every one of Peyton’s actions.

"You asked him out, you pay for shit.”

“You’re practically walking right on top of him, fucking give the dude space, blondie.”

“What the hell is wrong with your eyes; he’d look way better with that black and blue scarf he picked up.”

“He is totally eyeing up that coffee mug. How are you so blind?”

“Jesus, how fucking bad is your aim, can’t even win the smallest prize.”

“Gym junkie, watch that fucking hand.”

When they finally got to the end of the path where the DJ was set up and people were dancing to the remixed pop song in the circular area, the sun was low, setting earlier as they neared winter, and the lights had been turned on. Peyton was unoriginal in his plan to come to the fair for the date. The ‘dance floor’ was completely taken over by couples, and those not dancing were cuddling and canoodling in the grass and behind trees surrounding the area.

The entire place was disgustingly hormonal and textbook YA romance novel.

Jean watched Peyton wheedle Marco into dancing with the other couples and few friend groups. Marco was clearly uncomfortable but caved, face pink and hands on Peyton’s shoulders while Peyton’s were way too low on Marco’s hips. Peyton quickly got Marco laughing again and Jean tore his eyes away from the two, turning his back and walking back to the main entrance. He was being stupid and creepy, stalking his roommate on his date.

Pulling his headphones down to hang around his neck and tossing away his trash in the nearest trash bin, Jean figured he should try and actually care about the fair since he was there anyway. But nothing took his mind off of Marco and Peyton. Before calling it quits and deciding to head home to mope, he made a quick stop to the bathrooms near the park exit. After doing his business and washing his hands, Jean left the bathroom and stuffed his hands into his jacket pockets.

“Jean?”

Too late, Jean realized he shouldn’t have turned around at the call of his name.

“Oh, uh, Marco…” Jean trailed, mind halting when it should have been racing, trying to come up with some excuse for being there. “Hey…”

“What are you doing here?” Marco asked with a frown.

Lips sealed shut, Jean looked down in a manner that could only be considered as guiltily. Marco quickly came to the right conclusion.

“You…did you _follow_ me?”

Continued silence was as good a confirmation as any.

Marco seemed lost for words like Jean was before he bit his lip and shook his head, turning around and walking away. Peyton was standing at a stall purchasing something.

Jean stared after Marco’s back, watching him return to Peyton. This was not how things were supposed to turn out.


	11. Not Viciously Murder Him

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Apparently getting drunk is the answer to everything.

Marco wouldn’t talk to him. Even when they passed by each other in the kitchen or living room, it was stiff silence. Jean, unable to handle it, quickly started spending more time moping in his room or the library, but unlike before, he wasn’t getting much work done. He was drowning in guilt, worse than anything he had felt before. The night of Marco’s date kept looping in his mind. Specifically, the utterly hurt and betrayed expression Marco wore when Jean was discovered.

To make matters worse, just the other day when Marco had come home from a class, Jean had heard Peyton’s muffled voice for a brief moment before the front door closed and Marco went to his room.

There was an ever growing chasm between them that Jean had both started and accelerated.

And it was all because of one stupid fantasy he had while relieving some stress about two weeks prior.

Lying in bed, like he had been doing for the most part of the last few days when he didn’t have class, Jean stared blankly at his phone. He had received a few texts from Connie, Sasha, and Ymir but hadn’t even looked at them. They were all about the frat Halloween party. Marco had left a short while ago, and seeing as none of their friends seemed to have noticed the divide between them, they were all wondering where Jean was.

Moping around alone in the dark in his room wasn’t all that fun and Jean knew it was probably not very healthy either. He needed a distraction and the more he stared at the texts, the more a party sounded like just the thing. Besides, it was a huge party that had been talked about for weeks. There were going to be tons of people there. He could easily avoid Marco and try to get his mind off of things for a few hours.

Jean spent less than twenty minutes getting ready. A quick shower and some simple clothes thrown on were all he had the energy for, fuck Halloween spirit.

He made his way in the chilly air to the frat house, the same banner strung over the front with added Halloween decorations. The party was in full swing, solo cups and people littering the front lawn. Jean made his way inside and went straight for the kitchen. Sasha was the first person he ran into.

“Jean! You made it!” she greeted, mouth partially full with chips. She was dressed in overalls, one strap having come unclipped and hanging off one shoulder, and a straw hat. Her grin turned into a frown, “You’re not wearing a costume.”

“I’m a murderer,” Jean replied absently, grabbing a beer from the cooler.

Sasha’s frown remained before she gasped and beamed, “That’s so clever!”

“Uh, yeah. Sure. Thanks. Where’s everyone else?”

“Ymir and Connie are playing beer pong somewhere – she’s kind of angry with you for being late though, since she wanted you to be her partner again. Krista’s cheering them on. Marco…” Jean’s stomach twisted and he hoped more alcohol would help him ignore the discomfort. “Marco was talking to some guy with Armin, last I saw. Eren and Mikasa were with some people I didn’t recognize, and Annie, Bertolt, and Reiner went to yell at some idiots with fireworks by the pool.”

Jean nodded and the two moved from the kitchen towards where Ymir and Connie were getting destroyed in a beer pong match.

“Jean, you shit, don’t even think about running away,” Ymir called out when she caught sight of him as he and Sasha joined Krista near the front of the small crowd. “Connie sucks ass.”

“Hey!” Connie protested, the word slurring slightly. He wasn’t going to last another game. Ymir was dressed like a bandit and Jean was vaguely concerned about whether the knife sheath at her hip held a blade, fake or not. Connie was a shitty excuse for a robot. He was basically wrapped in pieces of tinfoil that was more on the floor than on his skin. Krista, fittingly, was an angel of some sort with small white wings and a toy bow and arrow set.

Ymir and Connie suffered an irredeemable defeat and Jean slipped away before Ymir could hold him hostage for the night. He went back to the kitchen to grab another drink but stopped short when he heard Marco’s laughter – something that used to be familiar but Jean hadn’t heard it in what felt like forever. Peeking inside, Jean’s eyes narrowed unconsciously seeing Peyton’s grinning face. He was dressed in a suit, blond hair slicked with too much hair gel. Marco, from what Jean could see from the back, was a little devil of some sort. Similar to Krista’s angel wings, he had little red devil wings and two light-up red horns poking out from his hair.

Jean stared for a moment until someone bumped into him and he pulled his shit together and headed as far away from the kitchen as he could. He made his way towards the pool in the backyard. Whatever Annie, Bertolt, and Reiner had to deal with was apparently dealt with since Jean didn’t see them or any idiots with fireworks. He saw fireworks though, floating uselessly in the pool.

But Jean’s interest was in the cooler lying near the short diving board on the far end of the pool. He weaved his way through the clumps of people and fished out another cold beer from the cooler. As he popped the cap and took a healthy swallow, he moved away from the pool, very wary of being knocked into it, and stuck by a wall, watching some members of different sports teams compete in a drunk game of capture the deflated beach ball.

When what was possibly the football team had gained almost gotten the prize to their side, lines marked with piles of various people’s shoes, someone joined Jean against the wall.

“Hey there,” Armin greeted.

“Hey,” Jean replied, surprised. Jean hadn’t spoken to Armin all that much, even though they were more or less part of the same general friend group. The blond was usually around Eren and, well, that was basically it. They had their freshman writing class together, but Armin was studious and never let his attention sway from the professor or his work. “Uh, so, what’s up?”

Armin shrugged and brought his drink to his mouth, taking a sip, “Trying to avoid getting puked on. You?”

“Nothing much. So what’re you supposed to be?” Armin wasn’t dressed up in anything special. He was wearing what he usually wore, actually.

A flush bloomed on his skin. “Uh, well. I wasn’t really planning on coming but Eren made me so it was really last minute.”

“Uhuh,” Jean hummed, raising a brow, waiting for Armin to get to the point.

The blond boy drank from his cup, mumbling, “A ghost. But someone spilled beer all over my sheet so I don’t know where it is now.”

It took Jean a moment but he eventually deadpanned, “A sheet ghost. Are you fucking serious?”

“It was last minute! I had nothing else!”

“You could have just come without a costume.” Jean gestured towards himself. “And then just make up some random bullshit like you’re a pedestrian in a superhero movie or whatever.”

“I have at least a little bit of Halloween spirit,” Armin replied, to which Jean snorted and took a swig of his drink. “You seem to be a bit down though. I thought you’d be with Marco?”

At his roommate’s name, Jean froze momentarily, but it was apparently just long enough for Amin’s perceptive gaze to lock onto.

“Oh. Did you two have a falling out?” he asked innocently, curiously. Jean remembered when Marco – with a blush – had mentioned that Armin was ‘really observant’.

“No. We’re fine.” Jean’s reply was terse and he knew it. Hiding behind another large gulp of beer wasn’t doing him any favors either. “He came here with his… uh, boyfriend or whatever.” The sneer at ‘boyfriend’ wasn’t completely filtered out of the delivery and Armin’s lips turned down a bit. Jean panicked for a second, fearing he had unintentionally outed Marco, but then remembered that _he_ had been one of the last people to know. Armin had apparently already known, figured it out himself even though Jean had been living with the man in question for months and hadn’t the faintest idea.

“And you’re… not okay with it?” Armin hedged.

Jean shrugged stiffly, “Marco can do whatever he wants. I’m not his keeper, it’s none of my business who he dates or fucks or hangs out with.” Especially since Jean was the one to ruin everything in the first place.

Armin watched him silently, making a noncommittal humming noise. Jean didn’t know what that was supposed to mean and didn’t really want to find out either.

“Well,” the shorter boy eventually said. “I just know Marco’s been a bit sullen lately and I was wondering if you knew the reason why. You’re the closest person to him.”

Jean’s mouth slipped into a wry smile, “Yeah, don’t think that’s the case anymore what with Paxton or whatever.”

“Peyton,” Armin corrected.

Jean just shrugged.

“You know, just because he’s dating someone doesn’t mean he’s going to toss his best friend to the side.”

Armin was getting on his nerves. Jean shrugged again and made some vague excuse about getting another drink, even though there was still half a bottle left in his hands. He needed to avoid conversation.

“JEAN KIRSTEIN!”

Just as he re-entered the frat building, Jean’s windpipe was squeezed again an arm and his beer was on the floor.

“Ack, Ymir?”

“You little shit, where’d you run off to? We’ve got a liquor pong title to win.”

Ymir didn’t give Jean any chance to make his defense, dragging him with a steel arm around his neck to the games room. Connie was passed out on the couch, sprawled across Sasha’s lap while the girl munched on some potato chips, watching the games.

A small yellow ball was slapped into Jean’s hand and he just sighed before standing next to Ymir. Table tennis at least didn’t have awkward conversation and he could get drunk quicker.

He did. Their opponents were better than last time, although Ymir was already a bit tipsy when he joined so that may have been part of the issue. Somehow, though, they made it to the ‘semifinals’. Jean and Ymir’s opponents were a team of grad student TAs, half of which consisted of Petra, Jean’s TA for his business law class, who was dressed as a little red riding hood.

“H _e_ y, Jean,” Petra waved, slightly off balance. No one was doing too well by that point, really.

“Where’sh your teammate?” Ymir asked.

“Right here, sorry.”

Jean nearly dropped the paddle in his hand, and then barely held onto it lest it _somehow_ flew across the table tennis table and hit Peyton right in his pretty little face and knock his stupid, fake vampire teeth down his throat. Would Marco still want him then?

“Oh, Jean, right? Marco’s roommate?” Peyton smiled innocently and as much as he could with the plastic teeth in at Jean who forced himself to nod, if stiffly.

The crowd was getting impatient so the bickering ended and the game began. The cups were filled with various drinks, the highest proofs being towards the apex of the triangle with some concoction of whiskey or vodka at the top. Liquor pong was serious business.

“Ymir,” Jean murmured to the bandit beside him. “Losing is not an option.”

Ymir grinned a touch too maliciously, “That’s what I like to hear, French boy.”

Jean and Ymir were both fired up and showed no mercy. Peyton and Petra gave as good as they got and the audience was loving every minute of it. Chanting for both teams accompanied the music playing around them and the four steadily became drunker. It was an even game and they were down to just couple cups on both sides and then only one each. The crowd called for shots before the race to nail the last cup began and Jean didn’t know what he was handed but it burned most of the way down.

Ymir was to serve and she swayed on her feet as she tried to line up her shot. The ball sailed just over the last cup, skimming the rim but falling off the edge of the table. Jean and Ymir groaned while Petra and Peyton cheered, the former picking up the ball and aiming for her turn.

Jean willed Petra’s aim to be off, watching her lobby the ball into the air. It arched, looking very much like it would land right in Jean and Ymir’s last cup. However, it dropped just before the cup, hitting the table and bouncing over the last drink, right into Jean’s waiting hands.

Jean did his best to keep himself steady, taking aim. He tossed the ball over the net, it fell much shorter than Peyton and Ymir’s last tosses, but it bounced once… twice… at the third bounce it hit the rim of the cup and breaths were held, Jean mentally pushing the little celluloid sphere just enough to tip into the stupid little red cup. His wishes were granted and before he knew it, Ymir was crushing him in a tangled hug, whooping and cheering in incomprehensible, slurred babbling.

“They get one last chance,” Jean managed to say, trying to pull out of the taller, drunker woman’s steel embrace.

“S-Shut up ‘nd leh-t me sh-celebrate,” Ymir grumbled but did let Jean free. It was Peyton’s turn to take the drink for his team and he downed the cup with a grimace that Jean took a little too much pleasure in. It was one of the lower proof drinks, a shoddy beer that tasted like piss. Ymir and Jean had strategized to make their opponents drink the stronger alcohols as early as possible. Drunker opponents meant less coordinated opponents.

Peyton had the ball in his hand and got ready to try and at least tie. He was the one who had pretty much been carrying their team so Jean was a little worried. Petra didn’t have the best alcohol tolerance and had been leaning against the table or Peyton for most of the match to stay upright.

Peyton tossed the ball and much like Jean’s throw, it fell short but bounced towards the last standing cup. Eyes watched the ball make its way over the net, onto the table, in the air again, another hit to the table…and just barely sailed over the last cup standing.

It took a moment to process, but when Jean was being crushed in Ymir’s victorious grip once again, he was whooping and cheering along with their audience. The two were handed a cheap, store bought award by someone from the frat and then a shot glass filled more than halfway with some dark concoction of some sort, the traditional victors’ drink or some nonsense Jean would have rolled his eyes at had he been able to walk in a straight line. But he couldn’t and he downed what could have passed for poison in a few heavy chugs with Ymir. Some liquid dripped down his chin and seeped into his shirt, but everyone was cheering and he felt on top of the world. Well, until he was nudged around receiving hi-fives and claps on the back, one of the latter that sent him stumbling forward, tripping over feet that could have been his own.

He nearly hurled right then and there when he was mid-fall, his head seeming to really want to meet the sticky and stained floor. But something stopped his tumble into the floor, probably also saving him from being trampled by other drunk idiots.

When Jean looked up, the world spinning and blurry in some parts while sharpened and clear in others, his eyes zeroed in on red LED devil horns, then dropped to warm brown eyes and a smattering of the most attractive freckles in existence.

“Jean?” Marco’s voice was weird. He was right in front of Jean, holding him up and trying to get Jean steady on his uncooperative feet, but he sounded far off, like an underwater phone call with bad reception. Yet Jean felt a surge of relief and desperation with Marco’s warm and firm hands anchoring him just enough to be slightly aware that _this_ was a chance for… for… for something at the very least. Marco was _looking_ at him.

Surroundings and inhabitations gone for the most part, words tumbled forth from Jean’s mouth in a barely comprehensible rush. Everything that was bottled up, rolling around in his consciousness, his leaden gut, erupted. “Marc-a-ho, dude, ‘m shoreh. I _missh_ you. _C’est_ all my fault.” Jean fell into Marco, his arms flopping around Marco’s shoulders in equal parts seeking balance and trying to keep Marco from leaving.

Marco’s hand landed on Jean’s waist, holding him up. A concerned frown drew across his face, “Jean, hey, are you okay?”

Jean shook his head emphatically, “No _o_. ‘m not. _Je veux_ my besht frien’ back. ‘m shorry fer ruinin’ your date. But please shtop bein’ mad a’ me. _Et_ ‘m _désholé_ _pour_ ignor-ig-avoidin’ you. Ah needed to get my head on shtraight _mais tu as_ looked ssho, ssho fucking _sad_ _et j’ai senti affreusement mal_.”

“Jean, I can’t understand half of what you’re saying between the slurring and I’m guessing French? C’mon, you need to drink some water and sober up.”

Jean let himself be dragged to, well, he didn’t really know. But he trusted Marco not to viciously murder him so he tried to cooperate but his legs were traitorous bastards and Marco was basically shouldering all of Jean’s weight. The drunk boy didn’t know quite how he felt about Marco’s apparently hidden strength.

Marco’s destination was one of the large pillars just outside of the frat house. He set Jean against it and told him to stay put, that he’d be right back. Jean didn’t feel on top of the world anymore and was more than content to slide to the floor with his back against the pillar, dozing slightly until Marco came back.

The taller boy did, and he came with a bottle of water Jean drank gratefully.

“Congratulations on your win, by the way,” Marco said, somewhat awkwardly.

“Thanksh,” Jean beamed. He had forgotten he was still drinking from the bottle and water splashed down the front of his shirt. “Fuck me.” The cold water and having been outside in the fresh air was starting to sober him up a bit, but he wouldn’t bet on saying his ABCs backwards anytime soon. “ _Sh’est froid_ ,” he complained, pulling his shirt away from his body.

“Um, I’m guessing that means cold?” Marco laughed. Jean missed hearing it.

“I’m sh-sho- _s_ orry,” he blurted.

Marco blinked, “For what?”

“Bein’ a dick. An’ ruinin’ your… _date_.” He tried to keep the sneer out of ‘date’. Sort of.

“Oh.” The party filled their empty silence and Jean was beginning to feel sleepy now that the excitement and adrenaline was leaving his body. The wind was picking up and he wished he’d thought to have worn a jacket.

Jean didn’t realize he was nodding off until Marco shook him by the shoulder.

“Hey, probably not the best place to sleep. Did you walk here?”

Jean simply nodded and under drooping lids watched Marco nibble his bottom lip for a moment. The sober boy gently patted Jean’s cheek. “I’ll be right back, sit tight for a sec and we’ll go home.”

Marco left him at the pillar again to go inside the frat house and Jean wasn’t feeling too happy about that. So instead of being an obedient drunk boy again, he stumbled to his feet and tried to follow, forgetting how _that_ idea had turned out previously.

Marco hadn’t gone far. Jean spotted him right away in the open kitchen speaking to someone who was hidden by a wall. Marco was laughing though and Jean couldn’t help his grumpy scowl. The other person said something that made Marco look hesitant before he nodded with his usual smile. Jean’s scowl turned into a murderous glare when Marco’s conversation partner appeared as Marco was pulled into a hug that lingered a little too long and given a kiss on his flushed freckled cheek.

“Of courshe it’sh the fucking gym bunny,” Jean muttered. Marco wasn’t coming back to him.

Jean pushed off the wall he was leaning against and dragged himself out of the house and down the steps, preparing for the long walk back to an empty apartment. He kept away from the edge of the sidewalk as much as he could, but his feet were still controlled by liquor so it was definitely a challenge. The few people he had passed had given him strange looks.

For the amount of time he had walked, he should have been almost halfway home, but inebriation wasn’t conclusive to efficiency. His phone buzzed and he paused by a lamp post, letting it take his weight as he fished his phone from his back pocket.

Marco’s name stared back at him along with the ‘accept’ and ‘reject’ call buttons. The phone buzzed away in his palm and before Jean could decide where to answer, it ended. He had waited too long. In a blind panic, the next thing he knew, he was dialing Marco, holding the phone to his ear. Marco picked up before Jean could abort the call.

“ _Jean, where are you? Are you okay?_ ”

“Um, yeah. I’m on the way home.” Jean tried his best to keep his voice stable, his cadence even, but his vowels dragged nevertheless in hints of an alcoholic slur.

“ _I told you to wait for me. You’re drunk! Where exactly are you right now?_ ” Jean automatically rattled off the name of the street he was on, along with the surrounding landmarks. _“_ Don’t _move and stay on the phone. I’ll be right there._ ”

Jean obeyed, his heart thundering and his stomach twisting as he heard Marco’s puffs of breath through the phone. He should have cut the call, told Marco not to bother and continued his lonely, pathetic journey home to sulk in his room in the dark listening to angsty music. But he stayed put under the occasionally flickering yellow light, staring at the cracked concrete beneath his feet.

As promised, Marco appeared soon, jogging down the street towards Jean who cut the line and put his phone away. A gust of wind swept past and he wrapped his arms around himself.

“Why’d you leave?” Marco asked, showing no signs of fatigue despite having literally running all the way from the frat house to Jean.

Jean just shrugged, “Wanna-ted to go home. You sh-seemed busy.”

Marco frowned in confusion but Jean did really want the day to be over. He turned his back to Marco and started walking again. Marco quickly caught up and matched his pace by his side. The entire walk was in silence. Jean could tell Marco was turning something or another over in his head and Jean was trying his best to not think about the boy walking beside him, radiating heat through his coat. He was still wearing the dorky looking devil horns although the lights were turned off.

The silence lasted right to when Jean was unlocking the door and letting them both into their apartment.

“Sit on the couch,” Marco finally said. “I’ll get you some water. Have you eaten anything?”

Even though he asked, Marco didn’t wait for Jean to reply and was rushing into the kitchen to fix something up. He came back with a PB&J and glass of water that Jean took gratefully at his seat on the couch.

“Sober enough yet?” Marco asked once Jean had finished the sandwich and water. Both had gone down without him registering taste. He just wanted to go and sulk in his room. He’d lost his best friend.

Jean shrugged in response, “I’m fine, Marcsh-Marco. You didn’ hafta-have to walk me home. Your boyfriend might get the wrong idea.”

“Boyfriend?” Marco echoed. “Do you mean Peyton?”

“Got shome other boys around?” Jean replied and immediately wanted to take back the bite and the words but they were out in the open and he couldn’t reverse time. Fuck knows if he had that ability, none of this would have been happening.

“I thought you were okay with it?” Marco murmured, hurt.

It was Jean’s turn to be confused. “With what?”

“Me being gay.”

“What?” Jean’s eyes widened in surprise. “No! _Pourquoi—Comment?_ Why would that bother me? How’d you come to that con-conc-come to that?”

“Because you’ve been avoiding me and it all got worse when I went on that date!” Marco exploded. Jean sat stunned, staring up at Marco who was panting lightly. He’d never heard Marco shout like that. Sound so angry and hurt and confused. Marco lowered his tone into a meek whimper. “I thought you hated me.”

Jean had to clear that misunderstanding. “I don’t hate you, I could never. **_Jamaish_**. _Je déteshte_ that fuckin’ gym bunny. He’sh sh-stealing my besht frien’! Of coursss-she I hate _him_. But you were happy and all I could think was, _pourquoi pas moi?_ _Je voudrais te faire beaucoup plus heureux_.” His words trailed into a sulky grumble by the end.

“He’s not stealing me, Jean. And I don’t know what else you were saying but maybe you should sleep and we can talk in the morning when you’re coherent and sober?”

“ _Non_ ,” Jean huffed, shaking his head. “Everythin’ will go back to how it’sh been the lash-la _s_ t week.”

Marco smiled and Jean couldn’t figure out why. What was there to smile about? After tonight they weren’t going to be talking again. Marco wouldn’t be smiling at him again. Step on a burger in front of a starved man, why don’t you.

Marco stepped closer and a hand hovered just above Jean’s shoulder for a hesitant second before settling. “C’mon, go to bed for now. I promise we’ll talk in the morning.”

Jean looked up, staring at Marco’s face. His gaze went over eyes, nose, lips, freckles, and paused on a cheek that was a little more pink than tan. He let Marco pull him up to his feet and direct him towards his room but stopped in front of his open door.

“What’s wrong?”

Jean turned to face Marco once again and frowned, staring at Marco’s cheek. The cheek Peyton had kissed while giving Marco a more than friendly hug.

“Jean?”

Jean lifted a hand and brought it to Marco’s cheek, ignoring the way Marco tensed under his palm, eyes wide, and skin warming. He grazed his thumb across Marco’s cheek bone gently at first before pressing harder.

“Ow! Jean, what’re you doing?” Marco complained as Jean rubbed Marco’s cheek roughly, as if rubbing away a stubborn smudge. Marco pulled Jean’s hand away and the shorter boy frowned, but was a little satisfied. He slipped his hand out of Marco’s hold and mumbled out a good night he wasn’t sure was in English, French, or neither, and walked into his room, kicking off his shoes and falling face first into bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay. All caught up. That was tedious to do. But yeah. Kay. I'll just stop now.
> 
> Late disclaimer: I quit learning French like two years ago so I apologize for all the mistakes there. Haven't resorted to google translate yet though so I think that's a good thing.


	12. Not Actually Fuck Him

Jean woke up and wished he didn't. First, it was because he was severely hung over, and then he had the misfortune of remembering the previous night. There were a few dodgy spots, but the less drowsy he became, the more he remembered.

"Fuck," he hissed. "Fucking, fuck, flipping duck-fuck. What kind of moronic idiot am I?" Blindly reaching for something to hold, possibly throw, his hand knocked over a glass of water that was set on his nightstand, sending water, glass, and two pills to the floor, the glass breaking on impact.

"Fucking great," Jean muttered, getting out of bed to clean up the mess. He was careful not to step on the glass fragments and pulled off his shirt from the previous night, wrapping it around his hand to collect the larger pieces of the glass. He glanced briefly at the window. The sun was barely up, it was probably no later than seven, eight at the latest. He didn't even sleep in after a shit night.

He heard a knock on his door and absentmindedly called out, "Come in."

"Everything okay? I heard something break…"

Jean jumped in surprise and looked over his shoulder to see Marco peering into his room from behind the door.

"Oh. Uh, yeah. Knocked a glass over, that's all," he replied, quickly turning back to continue picking up the pieces. His heart kicked up into overdrive with Marco right there and he tried to move a little quicker in picking up the broken pieces.

"Wait, let me get a broom or something before you—"

Jean hissed in pain, dropping the piece of glass that slipped out of his hand as he picked it up, slicing across the upper part of his fingers and thumb.

"—hurt yourself."

"Fuck!"

Marco was at his side immediately, grabbing Jean's injured hand by the wrist with one hand, and taking Jean's shirt full of broken glass in the other. Marco set the shirt and collected glass pieces on the floor and pulled Jean up with him, rushing to the bathroom and shoving Jean's hand under the tap as cool water spilled out.

Jean stood still and pliant as Marco washed his cuts, checking for glass in his skin. He found none and within a few minutes Jean was cursing a storm as Marco dabbed rubbing alcohol with a cotton ball and then plastered band aids around his injured fingers. Jean was then sent to the kitchen to eat the light breakfast Marco had made after coming home from his morning run while Marco cleaned up the glass with a small broom and dustpan.

Nibbling on a corner of buttered toast, Jean's thoughts raced through his throbbing head. The things he _said_ the previous night…

' _But you were happy and all I could think was,_ pourquoi pas moi? Je voudrais te faire beaucoup plus heureux.'

The things he _did_ …

_He grazed his thumb across Marco's cheekbone gently at first before pressing harder._

Heat flooded his face. What had he been thinking?

"Do you want anything else?"

He nearly choked on a bite of toast when Marco came out into the living room, glass shards collected in the dustpan.

"No, I'm fine," Jean coughed, shaking his head. He just barely caught Marco hiding a smile as his roommate went into the kitchen, coming out with the coffee pot and pouring Jean another cup.

"How's the hangover?" Marco asked, setting the pot on the coffee table and taking a seat next to Jean on the couch. There was reasonable space between them and any other day Jean wouldn't have been so conscious of the little gap, but with his mind looping certain sentences and actions of the previous night and his injured hand tingling with remnants of Marco's warm hands, he was hyper aware of the empty space.

"Fine," Jean managed to reply. He brought his coffee to his mouth for something to do.

Marco played with the bottom of his shirt and Jean could feel the conversation he was dreading coming up. Before Marco could initiate it, Jean got to his feet, taking his plate and mug to the kitchen to clean up. While he was there, he may as well wash all the dirty dishes, right?

The pressured spray of the tap added much welcomed noise to the apartment and Jean chugged down the rest of this second mug of coffee, the near-scalding burn that ran from his tongue down his throat some form of self-served punishment. He tried to focus on only the dishes, burning water, and soap, but Marco was a constant presence that moved from the living room to the kitchen behind Jean.

"Jean, I can take care of that later…"

"Nah, I got it. You had to deal with my drunk ass last night. I didn't do something stupid again, did I? I mean, other than a headache, I didn't wake up to bruises so I'm guessing I didn't get into another stupid fight?" Jean laughed but his shoulders were stiff and the smile didn't reach his eyes that he did his best to keep averted from his roommate.

"No… uh, but um, we kinda need to talk…" Marco trailed.

Jean's heart stuttered but he carried on without pause. "Hm? About what?" He should win a fucking Oscar.

"Jean, please look at me."

Swallowing, Jean set the plate he had been scrubbing past the point of clean down and rinsed off his hands before shutting the tap. He had to take a deep breath before turning around, wiping his hands on his jeans to stall further.

"So…what's up?" Jean cleared his throat as his façade cracked with his voice. He crossed his arms over his chest, leaning back against the sink.

Marco ran a hand through his hair. For someone that wanted face-to-face interaction, Marco didn't seem too keen on holding up his side of things, seemingly unable to look at anything other than the floor.

"Um, last night…I think we've got some misunderstandings between us and should talk. I promised you we would talk and even if you don't remember I plan to keep my promises." Marco paused for a moment before adding hesitantly, "Uh…after you shower and dress maybe?"

Jean found himself nodding and stepped away from the sink. When he finished his shower, one that was longer than usual but not long enough to make it obvious he was stalling. Marco was in the kitchen, finishing up the dishes so Jean quietly slipped into his room and threw on some old, worn clothes. He was going to have to do his laundry soon.

Back in the living room, Jean wiped his sweaty palms on his pajama pants and fidgeted by the entryway into the kitchen. He really didn't want to talk about last night.

"So…" Jean looked up at Marco who seemed just as awkward and uncomfortable with the present situation. "Maybe we should sit…?"

Jean simply nodded and stiffly took a seat on the couch again. Marco joined him and while Marco angled his body to face Jean a little more squarely, Jean kept his hands clasped between his knees, facing toward the TV.

Marco cleared his throat, "God this is awkward. What happened? I thought…I thought we were doing good? I kind of thought you of you as my best friend, which is weird since we haven't known each other long but… I was really glad you ended up as my roommate."

Jean shrugged, "I…" He licked his lips but his mouth seemed to have dried up. "It's—I just. Fuck." He unclasped his hands and brought one through his hair. Words just seemed to stumble past his lips. It's not like he could ruin things even more, right? "Look. None of the… _weirdness_ , I guess, is your fault. It's literally just me being the dumb fuck that I am—"

"You are not!" Marco protested.

Jean shook his head and carried on, "—and I just had some things to think about after I had this weird dream, which completely threw me in for a loop about things about myself. And then things kind of just snowballed and ruined our friendship. Payton didn't help things and I just…I did some stupid shit like freezing you out and stalking you on your _date_ ," he still couldn't get the word out without curling his lip in derision, "and everything else that's been fucked up these past few weeks."

Silence fell upon them while Jean let Marco digest his word diarrhea.

"What did you say last night?" he eventually asks quietly.

Jean frowned. "What?"

"Between the slurred English, you were slipping into French. I know you didn't forget everything last night. You're not a very good liar, Jean."

So that cop out was gone. Jean drew his legs up and hugged them to his chest, pressing his mouth to his knees. " _Porquoi pas moi_ … _Porquoi_ means 'why'. _Pas_ is a negative adverb, so basically 'not'. And then _moi_ , well, everyone knows what that means," Jean muttered. "The other stuff isn't important."

"It didn't sound unimportant. Can you really not tell me?" Marco replied.

Jean peeked over and groaned internally, closing his eyes and burying his face into his knees. How could he not fulfil Marco's wishes when he was looking so fucking _cute_? He was past the point of even trying to deny it, trying to make himself believe that he didn't find Marco adorable to the point of sin. Because wasn't that what had started this whole mess in the first place? Well, he was already basically out the door, so in for a penny, in for a pound.

" _Je voudrais te faire beaucoup plus heureux_ ," Jean murmured, unable to look at Marco. He fixed his gaze on the closest corner of the coffee table near him.

"That was it!" Marco sounded so eager. Jean's face heated up. God, why did he say something so stupid?

" _Heureux_ means happy," he started off, stalling to the last minute. "Uh, _beaucoup_ means 'a lot' and _plus_ just means, like, 'even more'…"

"Jean." The blushing French boy looked over at his name and just wanted to hide again at the knowing, amused look on Marco's face.

"Ugh, fine," Jean relented. Ducking his face back into his knees, he rushed, "I would make you way happier. Fucking happy now?"

Marco was silent and Jean risked a peek over again. He was surprised to see Marco's face a bright red, hand covering his mouth in embarrassment. Why was he embarrassed? Jean was the one who did one embarrassing thing after another.

"Um… so with Payton…?"

"I was fucking jealous, okay?" Jean sulked. "I had no right to be but I was. I don't know why but seeing you with him just annoyed the crap out of me and on top of that weird dream I had I couldn't look at you without feeling weird and I just don't know what's been going on with me."

"Can I hug you?"

It took a moment before Jean processed the words, running them through his head several times and still coming with the same string of letters.

"What?"

"Sorry, I just…I really want a hug."

"Why…?" The half of Jean's brain that wasn't responsible for his suspicion was questioning why he didn't just jump into Marco's arms. A hug sounded really good right then, especially if it was from his roommate.

Marco laughed nervously, "Well… uh, the thing is… Payton," Jean was getting real tired of that douchebag's name popping up so often, "he was my attempt at getting over someone else."

"Someone else?" That discomfort in his stomach, which Jean now knew was _jealousy_ , was back.

"…you."

Jean was pretty sure he hadn't hit his head at some point but a lot of things Marco was saying really didn't make any sense.

"I've kind of had a huge crush on you…and I thought you were straight and I didn't want to mess up our friendship or make things awkward so I didn't say anything and Payton was there…"

"I am straight," Jean couldn't help but correct. "I've never been interested in guys before, but uh… Well. I'm open to exceptions after recent events… But! That doesn't explain why the hell you suddenly want a hug of all things." His brain kept telling him to stop questioning and start doing.

Marco scratched the back of his neck, "Uh, it's just something I want whenever my emotions are all over the place. I'd usually get a hug from my dad but he's not here and I just have this urge to hug you—"

Jean uncurled from his position and, before he could over think things – his brain yipped a little _hallelujah!_ – leaned forward and pulled Marco into that hug he wanted. Marco stiffed in surprise for a moment before his arms went around Jean, warm and firm.

Jean felt like all the tension and discomfort dissipated from his body as Marco adjusted himself so they weren't in such an awkward position. Marco's arms felt so good around him. The warmth of his body encompassing him, seeping into his skin and replacing all the stress and tension he had built up.

"I have to talk to Payton about things," Marco said after a moment.

"Fuck him." Jean muttered against Marco's neck. He ran the words over in his head a second later and looked up with wide eyes, "Wait. No. Don't do that. Fuck him, but like not _actually_ fuck him."

Marco's arm tightened around Jean's waist as he ducked his head into Jean's hair. Jean felt the vibrations Marco's giggles made in the taller boys' chest through his own.

"What?" Jean frowned.

Marco kept his lips sealed, shaking his heads as his eyes sparked with amusement.

Pursing his lips into a scowl, Jean pulled off from Marco as much as he could, bracing one hand on the back of the couch to hold himself up. "What the fuck are you laughing about?"

Marco pulled Jean back when the brunet tried to get off the couch, "No, don't leave, I'm sorry. You're just so cute."

"Fuck you, I am not. If anyone's the cute one between us it's you," Jean retorted, although he did let Marco pull him back down and settle into the arm that went around his back again, dropping his head on Marco's shoulder with a huff. It was weird how easy it was to stay curled up beside him. He liked it a lot more than he thought he should.

The more he thought about it, the less comfortable he felt. His skin itched and he was hyper aware of the way the fabric of Marco's shirt felt against his bare arms, his head rising and falling with Marco's chest, and his heart thundering within his own chest. _Too fast_.

Jean pushed himself up and scooted to create a little space between the two of, rubbing the arm that had been flush against Marco. It felt hypersensitive, a considerable number of degrees warmer than the rest of his body, excluding his face, which was in a league of its own.

"I'm getting more coffee. Want some?" Jean asked abruptly, getting to his feet. He was pretty sure he was going to have some sort of meltdown when his brain caught up to and fully processed everything that had happened in the past ten minutes so some preemptive comfort-coffee seemed like a good idea.

Marco nodded and they were silent as they got themselves their drinks. Jean was trying to keep his mind blank, prolonging the inevitable ' _what do we do now?'_ because their relationship was definitely never going to be the same. It had begun to change when Jean had that wet dream and now they were on the edge of limbo, a fork in the road approaching that they had to pick between.

"So… you've got a crush on me?" Jean eventually spoke up after their coffee was done and they were nursing their mugs by the island beside each other. Those words had lit a fire in his chest, his stomach flipping in a weird, pleasant way.

Marco blushed, "Shut up. I can't help it. I tried to get over it and that wasn't really working."

"Who said you had to get over it?" Jean grumbled into his coffee. He was incredibly grateful Marco hadn't heard him after he realized the words had left his lips.

"Jean…uh, what now?" Marco asked, setting his mug on the counter. It looked like he had barely touched it.

With a sigh, Jean shrugged, "I don't know, honestly. I mean…I've never even _thought_ about being with another guy, but the idea of you off with someone else…" Jean made a face that Marco seemed to find amusing by the shy little smile he tried to stifle his laughter with.

Marco shifted on his feet. "I like you, Jean, I've been crushing on you for…a little while. But I really like our friendship and don't want to ruin that."

"Same," Jean nodded. "Well, our friendship for sure, which is why I tried to get my thoughts in order. Although the way I did so did a lot more harm than good."

"How about we…see how it works out? Like, test the waters?" Marco suggested. The taller boy was trying to appear somewhat neutral, his tone even but for the lilt of questioning. But the anxiousness and controlled hope shining in his eyes and the way he caught the corner of his bottom lip between his teeth, freckles highlighted on the light pink flush on his cheeks were too much of a giveaway.

Jean found himself nodding along and then laughing as Marco rushed around the apartment because he was going to be late for work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bleh, is my overall feelings for this chapter. Yeah. idk. At least I updated pretty quickly for me. Within a month or so.
> 
> Btw. I have a tumblr (rt-cipher) and twitter (rt_cipher). Yeah. Those exist. Until the next update, whenever that may be.


	13. Not Our Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jean no like interruptions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the kudos/comments/bookmarks! orz for taking so long to update - I tend to do that >.>  
> I'm on [tumblr](http://nachtgraves.tumblr.com) and stuff, hit me up. ~~I've changed my pen name because I'm a wee bit masochistic.~~

Nothing changed. Sure, there were longer glances, awkward laughs, and softer smiles, and yeah, they tended to sit closer together when watching TV or eating or doing homework in the living room, but _nothing was happening._ It was driving Jean insane.

He’d had a couple girlfriends in the past during middle and high school, but he was…something or another – dating but not officially dating? ‘Seeing’ but not going steady? – a _guy_. His _roommate_. His roommate who was taking on an extra shift at work because he was too nice to tell the lazy ass he’s covering for, _again_ , that being employed means _you show up to your work and do your damn job_.

Marco wasn’t going to be back until three and Jean hadn’t seen the freckled boy for more than five minutes today, and that too while he was still trying to wake up to get ready for his lecture. The one hour window where Jean was back from his only Friday class and before Marco’s only class of the day was taken away. So Jean moped over an unappetizing bowl of microwave mac ‘n’ cheese, aka plastic, because he was too annoyed to cook something. Plus, they were due for a grocery run, which he was probably going to do over the weekend.

Finishing his lunch, Jean cleaned up and then finalized the grocery list, adding some extra items for recipes he’d been wanting to try out. Some may have been a little fancier than average and went with wine and candles rather than beer and the glare of the TV, but no one needed to know and could shove their comments elsewhere.

When Marco returned, Jean was lying on the couch waiting for his assignment to write itself. “Hey,” he said, tilting his head back to watch the other boy upside down.

“Hey,” Marco returned with his usual, warm smile. “Did you eat yet?”

“Yeah, but I just made microwave mac ‘n’ cheese. I was going to go grocery shopping tomorrow while you were at work.” Jean sat up and closed the lid of his laptop. He had until Sunday to finish it and it wasn’t like he was getting any progress done. Marco was in the kitchen getting a glass of water and making toast. “Is there anything you want me to get that’s not on the list?”

“Uh, no don’t think so,” Marco replied. “What are we doing for dinner?”

“We could go out,” Jean suggested absently. “I’m honestly too lazy to cook and I don’t think we’ve got much anyway. I still haven’t really explored the area yet, either.”

“Then…do you want to walk around for a bit before we get dinner?” He seemed somewhat anxious.

“Sure,” Jean nodded.

Marco grinned at him around his toast. He looked incredibly dorky and butter got smeared against the sides of his mouth. “I’m just gonna shower and change – I feel gross from work.” He practically skipped to his room and then the bathroom.

It was only when Jean was waiting by washing dishes did he realize why Marco was oddly excited. “Is this our first date?”

Jean looked down at his rumpled t-shirt and faded jeans, both slightly damp from a spurt of soapy water that bounced off a plate and splashed him. He couldn’t go out like this if it _was_ a date, especially their first as…whatever they were. So he rushed through the dishes and set them to dry before hurrying to his room. Marco tended to take twenty minute showers usually, so Jean hurriedly went through his clothes to find something that wouldn’t be too nice in case this wasn’t a date, but still nice to show he cared to put effort if it was. In both cases, he had to save himself from embarrassment, but he had to admit, he was kind of hoping it was the latter.

They’d been in some kind of limbo since the awkward confessing and emotional eruption two weeks ago. The first few days it was just awkward being around one another but they soon settled back into their old routine with just the slightest nuances having changed. A date, a proper date, could solidify what was simmering between them, or at least push it to the next level.

But if this was just them going out because they didn’t have much choice and Jean was overthinking everything, he’d likely explode from the pent up tension and anxiety. Dating - almost-dating? – was so nerve-wracking.

Jean managed to settle on a pair of dark wash, fitted jeans and one of his nicer t-shirts with his leather jacket to stave off the fall chill. Marco had finished his shower and was dressing in his room, so Jean quickly slipped into the bathroom to take a leak and fix his hair. When he was done, Marco was standing in front of the TV, fiddling with his hair that was seemingly still slightly damp at the ends. He had changed into brown pants that were practically sculpted to his calves and thighs and a dark green sweater over a collard white shirt.

“So, uh, ready?” Jean asked, making his presence known.

Marco backed away from the TV and nodded, “Y-yeah. Let’s go?”

They turned off the lights and Jean locked up behind them, taking the time to quickly check the contents of his wallet. He rarely carried much cash on him – coins and loose paper were such a hassle – and hoped they didn’t go to the one place that didn’t accept debit cards.

They decided to walk towards the park and if anything caught their eye, they’d detour or make a short stop. Jean pushed back his only memory of the park and walked alongside Marco, talking about classes and work and upcoming movies. However, his mind was a fickle thing and rarely liked to bend to his wishes.

“Marco,” Jean started, using the brief lull after Marco recounted another of his psych professor’s infamous vegetable tangents to change the subject. He didn’t want to ask but miscommunication was the root of their earlier problems, and was Jean’s fault, so he _had_ to ask. “Is this…would you—I mean, like. Is this a date?”

The tips of Marco’s ears turned pink under the streetlights. “Um, do you want it to be?”

“I asked you first.”

Marco scratched at his red cheek, “I was…hoping.”

Jean’s heart squeezed and jumped in his chest. He really had to see someone about any heart conditions he might suffer. “Alright then.” He tried to play it cool, but with Marco peeking at him out of the corner of his eye, he stepped a little closer to the taller boy so their hands could brush together as they walked.

They must have looked like a bunch of idiots, walking side by side, pointedly looking at the floor or to the side, faces pinkening by the second. Jean’s heart flipped and thundered, shooting around in his ribcage but the small, pleased smile Marco sported was more than worth the organ being a hyperactive piece of shit. He wondered what would happen if he took it a step further and pulled Marco’s swinging hand into his own…

“MARCO! JEAN!”

The two started and turned around at the shout.

From the opening of a small street that led to the main shopping area of Trost they had passed by, Jean spotted Sasha beaming at them. She had a few bags slung over one arm while the other waved frantically in the air. Another figure appeared behind her holding more bags on both of his arms. The shaved head made him easily recognizable as Connie. Plus, those two were hardly ever without one another outside of classes. If you spotted one of them, the other wasn’t far behind.

Jean and Marco waited for the other two to run up to them.

“Hey! What’re you two up to?” Sasha asked once she and Connie caught up.

“We were just walking around before grabbing dinner,” Marco replied easily when Jean froze and had to look for his tongue. He had taken a step away from Jean, creating a companionable distance between them. Jean crossed his arms over his chest, tucking his hands into the crooks of his arms.

“Same here,” Connie grinned. He narrowed his eyes at Sasha, continuing, “But I’ve just been roped into being her shopping mule. Save me.”

“You offered!” Sasha retorted. “I needed winter clothes and you said you’d help me. I’m not used to the cold here. It’s way warmer back home, I’ve hardly ever even seen snow.”

“It can get pretty chilly. We had a really bad snowstorm a couple years ago. A lot of farmers struggled with crops then.”

Somehow, Sasha and Connie ended up joining Jean and Marco. They were all in the same math class so bitching about Professor Ackerman and his draconian teaching style was easy to fall into. Jean couldn’t help feeling annoyed and anxious, though. The anxiety was something he was getting used to, what with constantly worrying if he or Marco would do something to tip off their friends that the dynamics between them had changed whenever they were around others. The annoyance came with waiting for Sasha and Connie to leave him and Marco alone. They were interrupting their date. Their _first_ date. And right after Jean made a fool of himself by asking if the outing was a date or not. He should have just kept his mouth shut.

As they walked, Marco and Sasha ended up walking ahead of Connie and Jean, animatedly talking about horses since Sasha’s family also raised and bred horses in her hometown. Jean wasn’t sure what to talk about with Connie, he only shared one class with the other boy and even then, they never really talked much, not that they could have with Professor Ackerman as their professor. Connie seemed to have no trouble though. The kid had a mouth on him that never seemed to tire and he carried on a mostly one-sided conversation with Jean nodding and humming at the appropriate moments while he stared gloomily at Marco and Sasha’s laughing figures.

“They’re such a bunch of farm nerds,” Connie commented. Jean just made a vague sound of agreement. “Hey, do you know if Marco likes anyone?”

The sudden question jarred Jean into paying attention to Connie’s ramblings. “What?”

“Marco, like, you guys are best friends right? He ever…mention being interested in anyone?”

Jean’s eyes couldn’t possibly get any wider. He was pretty sure his heart had stopped for the solid moment he took to convince himself that there was no way Connie knew that Marco and Jean were a pseudo-thing.

“Uh, maybe, I don’t really know. It’s not like we talk about our crushes like a bunch of middle school girls,” he said as casually as he could. Why did Connie care? Did _he_ like Marco?

“You don’t think he and Sasha could be a thing, do you?”

“ _What_?”

“ _Dude_.” Connie gave Jean an exasperated look. His face was red. “Just, you of all people would know, right?”

“Why do you care so much? You crushing on my roommate?” Jean wasn’t sure what he’d do if that were the case. Seriously, was Marco the male Helen of Troy or something?

“What, no!” Connie exclaimed. He lowered his voice in a hiss, “ _Sasha_ , man. But I think she likes someone.”

“You could ask…?”

Connie gave him a deadpan stare.

“Or not,” Jean conceded. “Fuck if I know, man. I doubt she’s interested in Marco and I know Marco’s not interested in her.”

“But he _could_ be.”

“He won’t.” _Because he’s into **me**_ , Jean added to himself, _and gay_. “Just ask her if she’s into someone and go from there.” And why was Jean stuck giving relationship advice when he nearly ruined the one he was trying to form before it could have started?

“C’mon, you slowpokes!” Sasha called ahead of him, cutting off Connie’s retort. She and Marco had stopped in front of a burger place that was a step above a fast food joint but not quite a proper restaurant. “Wanna eat here? Their chili cheese fries are to _die_ for.”

Burgers and fries didn’t rank high in Jean’s idea of first date food, but since their date had been interrupted, it was acceptable. Everyone agreed and they grabbed a booth by the windows, Jean and Connie across from Marco and Sasha. They decided on their meals and Sasha volunteered to go to the counter and order, Connie going with her, insisting to help.

Finally alone, Marco smiled somewhat remorsefully, “Guess it’s just not our day, huh?”

Jean sighed, “Yeah. Who knew going on a date with a guy would be this difficult?”

“It’s not always like this,” Marco defended. “I think we just happened to receive the full brunt of today.”

“Hm?” Jean frowned, confused.

Marco laughed, “It’s Friday the thirteenth, Jean.”

“Oh. Pshh, I knew that,” Jean huffed, but Marco kept laughing at him. He tried to bite his lip to hold back, but he wasn’t doing a very good job. “Oh fuck you.”

Jean looked away, catching sight of Sasha and Connie’s figures waiting in the short line. It seemed they were being held up by a parent and their kid, the kid fussing about something or another. The cashier, despite her patient ‘customer smile’, looked just about ready to off someone, the kid or herself.

“So Connie’s crushing on Sasha,” Jean commented, changing the topic.

“I know, he’s not very subtle,” Marco chuckled. “Sasha’s the only one who doesn’t know at this point, I think.”

“Connie’s worried about her crushing on someone. He thought it was _you_ and was worried you and her would end up together.” A hint of irritation slipped into his words.

Marco blushed, “Oh, well that would never happen.”

“I told him as much.” At Marco’s widened eyes, Jean quickly added, “I just said you wouldn’t be interested in her. I didn’t tell him… _you know_. Promise. I wouldn’t do that. I know you said you were out, but that’s your thing to tell.”

At Marco’s heart flipping smile, Jean found himself thinking that he should have sat beside his roommate instead of across.

The two boys drew their conversation to a close as Connie and Sasha returned with trays of greasy food.

“That looks so good,” Marco said, helping Sasha pass out the food. “What do we owe you?”

Connie, the resident mechanical engineering major who was surprisingly good at math, was in charge of figuring out how to split the bill fairly between the four of them. Jean would have offered to cover Marco’s tab but he was short on hard cash and couldn’t even cover his own burger and fries, plus the tax. Marco ended up covering for him, much to his embarrassment.

“I’ll pay you back later,” Jean promised.

Marco just waved him off, “It really doesn’t matter.” Jean secretly vowed to cover the expenses for their actual first date and let Marco win this round.

They dug in and Jean had to acknowledge Sasha’s claim about the chili cheese fries after stealing one from Connie, who was not happy at being short a fry. They talked about school and complained about coursework and teachers – midterms were around the corner with the upcoming fall break and no one was happy.

Their date was ruined, but Jean couldn’t say that he wasn’t enjoying himself with Connie being a general idiot and Sasha going off on random tangents that somehow always tied to food in some way. He stole glances across the table at Marco and took advantage of watching his roommate when he spoke about something from one of his classes or a childhood anecdote Jean had already heard. When Marco’d meet his eyes, a warm secret seemed to be shared between them.

Connie was talking about a chemistry lab he had done back in high school and how it went horribly wrong when something brushed up against Jean’s leg, startling him enough for eyes to fall on him

“You okay?” Sasha asked.

“Oh, what? Yeah, no, just bumped my knee against the wall.” Jean glared at Marco when Connie resumed his story. Marco smiled apologetically and he started to withdraw his leg from where it was touching Jean’s, but Jean pushed his foot out to keep Marco’s limb in place.

For the rest of the time they hung out at the restaurant, Jean felt the comforting presence of Marco’s shoe by his own. Sasha and Connie seemed oblivious to the slight redness at Jean and Marco’s ears and cheeks.

 


	14. Not Knowing How to Calm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Midterms and a little extra.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #notdead but who knows how long that'll last after the US election. For those that didn't know, I'm brown and go to school in the US with a student visa and all but one of my friends are white, so I make a lot of white and poc jokes in poor taste lol. 
> 
> This chapter was brought to you by a need for something happy and fluffy in light of recent events and my science class that bores me to tears and I needed to keep myself awake for the last forty minutes.
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Jean exited the lecture room, completely drained and ready to fall into a pre-dug hole to die in. Midterms’ week was upon them and he had just finished two short essays – although what even was a ‘short essay’? It’s longer than a short answer but shorter than a proper ten paragraph essay, but length is so subjective and he didn’t have the brain power to think about it any longer – for the first of them. He had a one day breather before three consecutive days of his remaining midterms, the last two being the ones he was dreading the most. But then it was fall break, a whole week off of school before the final stretch of the semester. At least he was lucky enough not to have any midterms _after_ the break. Those were the absolute worst.

But he still wasn’t too sure what he was going to be doing with the seemingly limitless free time. Work, obviously, but he still had to talk to his boss about more shifts during the week off. He had been stalling, though. While he did like working at the bakery, the idea of working for a week that was supposed to be vacation time, where everyone else he knew was going back home or road tripping with friends or significant others, wasn’t exactly a happy thought. He would be all alone. Even Marco was going back home to his dad.

Jean ended up hanging around chatting with classmates for a few minutes. Sasha was sure she bombed the second essay while Reiner and Annie were completely relaxed. They were the outliers of the class though so no one paid them much mind, only to ask about answers to predict how badly they did. Jean just wanted to go home.

“I’ll see you guys later,” he said, managing to find a lull where he could leave. “Have a good break.”

When he stepped into the apartment, he was buffeted by the scent of caramelized onions, sautéed vegetables, slightly charred chicken, aromatic spices, and sizzling peanut oil. Someone was making stir fry. Jean’s stomach reminded him of the less than filling cream cheese slathered bagel that had been his rushed breakfast in the morning.

Kicking off his shoes and dropping his bag on the couch, he peeked into the kitchen. Marco was reading something off his phone as he fingered the spice rack before finding what he was looking for and adding it to the pan.

“Smells good,” Jean said, entering the kitchen and coming up behind Marco to see how it was turning out. It looked as good as it was smelling.

Marco smiled at him over his shoulder, “Hey, how was your midterm?”

“Alright. Probably didn’t fail but I’m not counting on a perfect score either. Is your psych one today or Wednesday?”

“Today. She’s giving us Wednesday off.”

Jean narrowed his eyes, “Lucky bastard.”

“I would have been luckier if the math midterm was tomorrow instead of Thursday. I’d have been done tomorrow then,” Marco grinned cheekily. “I can’t wait to go back home.”

“Yeah,” Jean murmured, moving away to raid the fridge for something to drink. They had a carton of cranberry juice that was empty enough for him to forgo getting a glass to add to the dishes.

“Hey, c’mon, do we really need to have a no drinking from cartons rule?”

Jean looked over and rolled his eyes at his roommate. “It’s practically empty and I’m saving water.” He shook the carton to make his point; what little liquid was in it sloshed around in the plastic container. “Or did you want the last of it?”

Jean didn’t know what he was expecting, holding the juice towards Marco. Marco leaning forward and closing his mouth around the opening, using his teeth to tip the carton and swallowing a mouthful wasn’t it for sure though. A trickle of red leaked down the corner of his mouth.

“Mm, we should buy that brand again. And coke to mix it with.” Marco licked his lips clean, apparently completely unaware of the heart attack he was giving Jean, and wiped away the small spill with the back of his hand. “Could you grab plates? This’ll be done in a few minutes.”

Jean set the carton on the counter top in a rush, as if it had caught on fire, and reached for the cupboard where they kept their plates and bowls, without commenting on Marco’s odd taste in drinks like he usually would. Marco plated up and Jean grabbed them a glass of water each as well as cutlery. The stir fry smelled great and he was ravenous. They sat themselves at the island, side by side.

“So, what are you doing about work for the break?” Marco asked when they started eating.

Jean shrugged, shoving a piece of beef and pleasantly charred vegetables into his mouth, “It’s not like I have any plans, but I don’t know. I really don’t want to work during a break, but… My boss said I needed to let him know if I want more shifts or if I’m taking off like everyone else on Wednesday.”

“So, if you _could_ have plans?”

Turning to stare at his roommate, Jean rolled his eyes, “If you have something to say, just say it, man.”

Marco flushed and busied himself with poking his fork into his lunch while he spoke. “Well, my dad called while you were out, confirming last minute stuff like when to be at the station to pick me up and all that and. Uh, he asked about you and do you want to come home with me for the break?”

Jean blinked in surprise. “Uh, like…as your…?”

“Friend, roommate,” Marco rushed. “I mean, if you…” He sighed, dropping his fork and groaning into his hands. “I want you to come home with me. It can be as just my best friend and roommate if you want. My dad won’t care either way, really. Well,” Marco winced. “If I said you were my, you know, he’d just be super embarrassing.”

Jean remained quiet for a moment, thinking the offer over. He wasn’t sure how he felt about spending the week at Marco’s, mostly because he didn’t know how he wanted to be there _as_. The guy Marco’s sorta-dating or the guy Marco ended up splitting the rent with. But in either case, there was one thing he knew.

“If you’re sure,” he started, but didn’t have to finish. Marco’s happy grin told that he knew Jean was accepting and had Jean known that would have been his reaction, he wouldn’t have hesitated in the first place.

“Very sure,” Marco said. “I’ll let him know you said yes.” Marco took out his phone and tapped out a text that was replied to almost immediately by the way the boy grinned at the device. “He’s excited to meet you.”

And Jean realized that he was going to meet his roommate and probably-boyfriend’s dad in just a few days. The panic must have shown on his face, because Marco laid a hand on Jean’s shoulder and squeezed gently.

“I just said you were coming with me. I didn’t tell him about us…trying things. If you want to, when we’re there you can; whatever you’re comfortable with.”

The tense set of Jean’s shoulders eased as he sighed, “I’m sorry.”

Marco was already shaking his head. “Nope. No apologizing. I get it, Jean, so don’t worry about it.”

He was just so nice and sweet. What was he doing with a guy like Jean?

“Thanks,” Jean said. A flash of impulse had him leaning over and pressing his lips to Marco’s freckled cheek.

Jean felt his skin burn, and by the looks of the wide-eyed stare and reddened cheeks (one of which he had just kissed – lightly, but kissed nonetheless) Marco was in a similar boat. Panic blossomed in his chest once again, worry over Marco’s eventual reaction and confusion over his blind action.

But Marco didn’t say anything. He just smiled, pleased and a bit shy, and went back to eating his food. Jean may have also been smiling down at his beef stir fry as they finished eating in a companionable silence.

———

Jean felt a weight lifted from his shoulders the second he placed his midterm on Prof. Ackerman’s desk and filed out of the classroom with the majority of the class. Some people were still finishing up and Jean didn’t want to think about why Eren was staying behind when he _knew_ the other boy had finished at around the same time as him. He could have just been rechecking his work a few more times, but Jean highly doubted it.

He had better things to wrack his brain over. In just a few hours, he’d be on a train with Marco heading to Jinae, a small town on the edge of Trost with a population consisting of mostly farmer, for the week. He’d be meeting Marco’s _dad_. They hadn’t talked about how Jean was going to be formally introduced to and Jean really didn’t want to even think about it.

On the way back home, Jean took an impulsive detour to the bakery. He made small talk with his boss and coworkers as he made his purchase (using his employee discount) and received well wishes for his break. The second he stepped out of the bakery, anxiety and doubts flooded him. He should have asked Marco what his dad liked but like 90% of people liked chocolate, right? And the double chocolate fudge cupcakes with a gooey, fresh marshmallow filling and fluffy, peanut butter frosting was what the store was basically known for, selling out almost every day before closing. Jean had managed to get some of the last of the last batch of the day out of pure luck.

He let himself into the apartment, greeted to the sight of Marco setting a duffle bag by the couch, phone tucked between his cheek and shoulder.

“It was fine, I’m only a little worried about one of the essay questions but I’m sure I got most of the points. Uh-huh. Shut up, I’m not. _Dad_. You’re my dad, you’re supposed to say that.”

Jean smiled at Marco’s whining and quietly made his way to his room to finish off packing. As he passed the back of the couch, Marco caught sight of him and grinned, mouthing _‘Hey’_ before he returned to his conversation. “Yeah, I know. We’re taking the 3PM so we’ll be there by 6:30 at the latest.”

Marco’s conversation muted into a mumble as Jean shut his door. He had started packing the night before but finished stuffing last minute items into his duffle. He made a quick run to the bathroom to grab his toothbrush, paste, shaving supplies, soap, and shampoo, cramming everything into a plastic bag. By the time he’s all packed up, duffle zipped up and his school bag holding some extra items, including his laptop and the cupcakes, Marco’s wrapped up his phone call.

Jean moved his bags to the couch, alongside Marco’s things. “What time should we get going?”

“I want to get to the station at least a half hour before, so around two?”

Jean nodded, “Sounds good. Do we have anything for a quick lunch/?”

Marco grinned, “Already on it. I made some sandwiches from what we had left before I cleaned out the fridge.”

“My hero.” Jean returned the grin and followed Marco into the kitchen were chicken sandwiches awaited consumption under flimsy plastic wrap on a large plate. The two ate at the island, Marco asking about Jean’s business law midterm and the two commiserating over classes where they feel they didn’t do too well until it’s time for them to leave. They cleaned up and did a final sweep for last minute things they may have forgotten before starting the walk towards the train station. It wasn’t a far walk and they got there with time to spare.

The station was crowded, filled with people heading home or elsewhere for the fall holiday. Jean spied some people he’s seen on campus, a few from his own classes. Marco led the way through the prongs of people and luggage towards the tracks. They loitered by a pillar near their track and Jean double checked on his ticket on the phone app he had downloaded on Marco’s recommendation. He was growing antsier by the second, not knowing how to calm down when he was going to meet Marco’s father in just a few hours.

It didn’t take too long for their train to arrive but they did have to look carefully for a free pair of seats. They managed without issue, however, Marco taking the aisle seat and Jean leaning against the window, and they soon left the station behind, heading towards Trostian farms and forestry. Jean didn’t realize how anxious and jittery he was until Marco nudged him by knocking their knees together after a ticket inspector came through and activated their e-tickets.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, fine. Why?”

Marco just raised a brow and looked pointedly at the way Jean was white knuckling the head of the armrest between them. Sheepishly, Jean forcibly relaxed his hold and set his tense hands on his thighs.

“Maybe I’m a little nervous,” Jean conceded.

“My dad is the least intimating person on Earth,” Marco assured him. “You’ll be fine and he already likes you.” He reached under the armrest and laid a hand on Jean’s hand, threading his slightly calloused, tanned fingers between Jean’s leaner, lighter toned ones. Jean’s body temperature rose a couple notches even as his mind experienced a brief moment of panic; it was the first time they had been openly affectionate in public. Sure, it was only Marco’s hand on top of his, on his lap and in the relative privacy of their two seats. No one would notice unless they looked over at Jean’s lap.

Marco seemed to notice Jean’s hesitation and discomfort and began to remove his hand, but Jean quite frankly liked the extra warmth of Marco’s touch and flipped his hand over to hold Marco’s hand, palm to palm and fingers interlocked. “I’m fine,” Jean murmured, refusing to look higher than Marco’s chest before turning his head to look resolutely out the window. He couldn’t see Marco’s expression, but he felt the gentle squeeze of his hand like a shock of electricity down his spine. And when Marco nodded off, falling over into the aisle until Jean tugged him over to rest on his shoulder, Jean kept their hands linked in his lap and rested his cheek against Marco’s head as he watched trees and grass and smaller cities and towns roll by.

 


	15. Not Have in Front of Their Sorta-Boyfriend's Dad

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys arrive in Jinae and Jean doesn't know what to do with himself.

The journey passed by with Jean in alternating states of sleeping and dozing until Marco nudged him awake, saying that almost at their stop. Jean looked out the window and saw sparse forestry that thinned out into pastures and flatland where some animals were grazing. A town came into view with small, closely packed stores and signs flashing, a letter or two flickering uncertainly. This small town was the closest station to Jinae, which they would have to drive to.

As they rolled into the station, Marco stood in the aisle, pulling down their bags and Jean made sure they didn’t drop or forget anything in their seats. They hopped out of the garish lighting of the train and into the subdued yellow light of the outdoor station and biting, late evening air, bundled up and holding their bags. A few others hopped out along with them and made their way down towards the open parking lot.

“My dad’s almost here.” Marco’s cheeks were flushed from the sudden cold, the skin unprotected. Jean was in a similar situation and tugged his knit cap down so his ears weren’t left to fend for themselves. “We can wait down by the drop off/pick up area.”

Jean let Marco lead the way, and followed him down the somewhat frosty metal stairs to the curb where others were being dropped off and picked up. People were hugging and kissing and laughing and all Jean felt was the churning of the contents of his stomach.

They didn’t have to wait long. A faded blue pickup truck rolled up the curb and Marco perked up, heading for the vehicle before it could park along the sidewalk. The driver’s door opened up and Marco was engulfed in a hug that lifted him off his feet by a man that was leaner but taller by a few centimeters.

“Dad!” Marco protested, but he was laughing and didn’t seem to be trying to get back his footing, instead bending his knees and lifting his feet further away from the ground.

Marco’s father laughed and pressed a firm kiss to the side of Marco’s head before setting him down. By then, Jean had shuffled his way towards the father-son pair and was an awkward shadow just off to the side.

Marco, face pink, stepped back and cleared his throat. “Uh, right. Dad, this is Jean. Jean, my dad, Johann.”

Jean was very proud of the fact that he didn’t immediately throw up all over Mr. Bodt’s work boots. “Hello, thanks for letting me stay with you for the break. Sir.” The honorific came out without prompt. Johann seemed like the sort. Plus, it couldn’t hurt to be respectful to his roommate/kinda-boyfriend’s dad.

Marco was biting his lip and Jean did his best to not squirm as Johann didn’t say anything as he looked Jean up and down. Johann eventually nodded in acknowledgment. “Good to put a face to a name. Marco’s told be all about you.”

Neither the words nor Marco’s suddenly red face and fascination with the floor eased Jean’s anxiety. He tried for friendly. “Hopefully nothing incriminating.”

Johann released a short bark of laughter as he clapped a hand on Jean’s shoulder, and Jean wasn’t sure if he was imagining the sudden, extra weight to the otherwise friendly gesture. “You boys throw your stuff in the back and then we’ll get going.”

Johann slid back into the truck while Jean followed Marco to put their bags into the truck bed. The truck had a bench seat so Jean let Marco slide in first so the taller boy was next to his father, with Jean against the door. As lanky as Jean and Johann were, there was some breathing room for the three men. Jean still made sure that even while being buckled up, he was as close to the door as possible.

“All set?” Johann asked and the two boys nodded. “Alright. It’s a bit of a drive, John—” Jean wasn’t sure if he had misheard—“so don’t worry about falling asleep or anything.”

Jean nodded and as they took to the road, Johann asked about school and Jean let Marco do most of the talking, catching up with his dad while he looked out the window and nodded along, adding tidbits when prompted.

It took roughly an hour before Marco perked up and grinned at the quaint little town they were coming up to. It looked every bit the quintessential little town in the country with brick buildings and rusty signs, people walking along the streets and the majority of the vehicles being small, cars or tractors. Jean could already tell he was going to be very out of place.

“This is the heart of Jinae,” Johann said. “We’re smaller than most but you won’t find better horses and fresh meat anywhere else in Rose.”

As they passed through what Jean figured was the hub of the town, the street lined with stores and a few restaurants, Marco leaned over Jean to look out his window, resting his hand on Jean’s thigh to stabilize himself. If Jean stuck his tongue out, he would have been able to taste the shell of Marco’s ear.

“Oh no, did Mrs. Puschmann close down her bakery?” Marco asked, resting his weight liberally on Jean.

Jean was having many bad thoughts. So many bad thoughts one should not have in front of their sorta-boyfriend’s dad who probably owned several guns and could snap your spine with a stare.

“She just moved it into her home. She had a fall a few weeks ago – nothing major, but she sold the building and turned half her house into a smaller version. It’s mostly run by her nephew, you remember Frederik, right?”

Marco returned to his seat, but he left his hand on Jean’s thigh and Jean curled his hands where they rested on his lap, feeling the faint bit of heat from Marco’s hand so close by. Marco was trying to get him killed.

“Yeah, he’s a junior this year, isn’t he. Is he taking over for Mrs. Puschmann when he graduates?”

“He wants to go to a culinary school somewhere in Sina but he’s still deciding.”

The two continued to talk about various people from their town and Jean could only sink into the seat and look out the window, unable to contribute. But Marco’s hand was still on his thigh so his mind couldn’t roam too far.

Johann drove them out of the town and into large fields as the skies grew darker. Once in a while, a large farmhouse would appear between fields and pastures dotted with a few grazing animals. Eventually, they took a turn down a path that led up to a modest house beside a large barn. There was an area circled off by wood fencing by the barn, and more fencing in the grassy field a little beyond. A large horse with a dark tan coat stood in the circular pen and tossed its mane with a loud nicker as they drove up to the house parked in front of it.

“Home sweet home,” Johann declared, cutting the engine.

Jean slid out of the car, and Marco came out right behind him. The taller boy had a huge grin on his face that Jean could just make out from the lights within the house.

“Oh my god, is that Swoosh?” Marco ran off towards the horse in the pen before Johann could respond and Jean could ask: “Swoosh?”

Jean watched him race up to the horse who greeted Marco with a whinny and a head-butt. The sight was way too sweet, so he turned around and went to the truck bed to grab their bags. Johann beat him to it, already hauling Marco’s bag over his shoulder and grabbing the strap of Jean’s.

“Oh, I can get them,” Jean insisted. Internally he berated himself for not moving faster. Johann probably thought he was a lazy, spoiled brat.

Marco’s father gave him another quick up-down and tossed Jean’s bag towards him. “Make yourself at home, John.”

This time, Jean was pretty convinced he hadn’t misheard, but he wasn’t quite sure how to go about correcting the man he was supposed to be trying to impress. “Thank you,” he said instead. He was probably just mishearing Johann.

 

Johann looked off behind Jean, and a soft smile came across his face. Jean turned to look as well and watched Marco laugh and talk to the large horse, who looked just as happy to see the other boy.

“Swoosh’s missed him,” Johann mused. He hiked Marco’s bag further up his shoulder and turned towards the house. “I’ll drop his things off in his room. The guest room’s all set up for you next to the bathroom upstairs. When you boys get settled, dinner should be ready.”

Jean nodded, “Yeah, thank you.”

Johann went into the house and Jean leaned against the truck, waiting for Marco. The other boy had climbed up onto the fence and was sitting on the top-most post, petting the horse who nudged and nuzzled against him. Under the darkening sky, Jean couldn’t really make out Marco’s expression but he knew that his roommate was all smiles. Marco appeared to be in his own world and Jean found himself content to just watch horse and boy.

The horse left Marco and ran around the pen, kicking up dust and whinnying. Marco looked over and Jean waved. The horse came back around to Marco, stealing his attention back, and Marco pet and nuzzled the horse before getting down from the fencing. He waved to the horse and made his way back to Jean.

“Sorry, I haven’t seen him since the summer,” Marco said, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck.

Jean waved him off, “No, it’s fine. He yours?”

“He was born when I was six so I practically grew up with him. Where’s my dad?”

Jean nodded to the house. “He said he was dropping your things off in your room and after we get settled, dinner should be ready.”

Marco led the way. Upon entering, Jean could already tell that the house was well-loved and lived in. The entry way walls were littered with framed photos of Marco and his father. Shoes in various states of disrepair lined the shoe rack by the welcome mat, and coats swallowed the lone coat rack. Stairs were lined against the wall by the door with smooth wood railings that matched the rest of the quaint farmhouse vibe.

The house opened into a living room where Jean could see Johann moving about in the kitchen where the rich smell of whatever was cooking reminded Jean of how long it had been since he ate. Marco called out to his dad to let him know he was going to show Jean where the guest room was before coming down to help with dinner. Johann shooed him away and told him to give Jean a tour of the house instead.

“There’s really not much to see,” Marco said as they walked up the stairs to the second floor. The stairs led into a single hallway lined with a few doors. As they walked down, Marco pointed out where each door led. The bathroom was at the end of the hall, with the guest room to the left, opposite Johann’s study. Marco and Johann’s rooms were closer to the stairs.

Jean dropped his bag on the bed and looked around. The guest room was a modest size and fairly simple in set up: bed, desk, closet, and a window.

“It’s not much but—”

“Marco, it’s perfect. Thanks for letting me stay with you,” Jean interrupted.

Marco flushed and scratched at his cheek, leaning against the doorway of the room. “You’re welcome. If you need anything, just ask me or my dad.”

Jean nodded and went over to the window to check out the view. It looked out towards the front yard/field. Marco’s horse was walking around in the pen.

“So, _Swoosh_?” Jean had to ask.

“I was _six_ ,” Marco grumbled. “And he’s really fast.”

Jean grinned at him. “Uhuh.”

“Shut up. Let’s go downstairs and see if my dad will accept help.”

Jean trailed behind Marco as they entered the kitchen. Johann was pulling a tray out of the oven that looked to contain scalloped potatoes.

“Need help?” Marco asked, coming up behind his dad, trying to see what was in the pot on the stove. Jean smelled chicken and spices.

“Get the table ready. You boys are just in time.”

Marco went to a cabinet and pulled out some plates. Jean, feeling awkward just standing there, moved to help out. “Where do you keep your silverware?”

Marco beamed and nodded towards a drawer next to the oven. “In there.”

Marco left the kitchen and Jean was left alone with Johann, who was standing right next to the drawer.

“Uh, excuse me, Mr. Bodt,” Jean said as he stepped up next to Johann to grab knives and forks. The rattling clank of metal seemed much too loud amid the sizzling of the contents in the pot and Marco moving about in the dining room.

Johann turned off the stove just as Jean closed the drawer. He turned to face Jean and looked like he had something to say, but Marco returned to the kitchen, calling out, “Did fix the wobbly leg on the dining table, dad?”

“Yeah. Tally – you remember her, right? – worked here after school while you were gone.” Johann replied, all smiles. Jean took the opportunity to leave the kitchen and find the dining room while the two talked about the girl from Marco’s high school who was apparently a junior at his old high school.

The dining room was a small room that connected the living room. There was a small table that could seat six with wiggle room. Marco set up the plates at one end so Jean placed the forks and knives accordingly. He headed back to the kitchen only for Johann and Marco to come out holding the food.

“Anything else I can do?” Jean asked.

Marco bound over to Jean after he set the potatoes on the table. “Just glasses and drinks – I’ll go with you. Can I get you anything, dad?”

“One of my beers in the fridge would be great, son. You boys are welcome to it or you can help yourselves to anything else in the fridge.” The way he looked directly at Jean made the brunet feel like he had unwittingly entered into a trial of some sort. He was thankful when Marco ushered him back into the kitchen.

Marco went to the fridge and pulled out a dark glass bottle Jean recognized to be a local lager. “Do you want one?” he asked Jean.

Truthfully, Jean could have definitely gone for some alcohol for his first dinner with Marco’s father. Instead, he shook his head. “Nah, I’m good. Water or something is fine for me.”

Marco stuck is head back in the fridge, calling out, “We have iced tea and lemonade, too. Oh, and a can of Sprite.”

When they both returned to the dining room, with Johann seated at the head of the table, Jean noticed the considerable look Johann cast upon the glass of iced tea in Jean’s hand as he sat down. Jean waited until Johann had served himself before reaching for the potatoes and chicken pot roast. He didn’t start eating until the two Bodt men started, either.

“So, _John_ ,” Johann started, and Jean definitely did not mishear the stressed name.

“Dad,” Marco interrupted. “It’s _Jean_ , not John.” He cast Jean a wide-eyed look that Jean returned with a small smile.

Johann paused before nodding to Jean. “Ah, sorry. My bad.”

“No, it’s fine,” Jean hurried to say. “It happens.”

There was a stiff moment of silence at the table. Marco was flushed pink and staring at his food, but not eating; Johann had a smile that was somewhat strained; and Jean wanted the chicken they were eating to piece itself back together, become a reanimated chicken corpse, and peck Jean’s brain out of his skull because that would likely be less painful than the dinner was turning out to be.

Jean could already tell it was going to be a long few days.


End file.
